THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

LIBRARY 


THE  )\/lLMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

PRESENTED  BY 

RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 


S'iLMEH  COLLECTION 


PINE    KNOT 


SOME  PRESS   OPINIONS   OF  DR.    BARTON'S 

A  HERO  IN  HOMESPUN, 

"Vigorous,  spirited,  truthful,  absorbing." — AVtf  Vori 
Critic. 

"A  thoroughly  interesting,  red-blooded,  virile  story, 
and  at  the  same  time  a  historical  document  of  the  very 
greatest  value." — The  Bookman. 

"  Will  be  read  with  keen  enjoyment." — Nevi  York 
Times. 

"  The  story  is  one  of  intense  interest." — Boston  Herald. 

"In  his  writings  of  the  mountains  in  war  time  Dr. 
Barton  has  a  virgin  field." — New  York  Independent. 

"  Abounds  in  life  and  incident.  The  men  and  women 
move  and  act  spontaneously.  The  primitive  customs  and 
usages  of  the  mountaineers  have  been  carefully  pictured." 
— Philadelphia  Ledger. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2010  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://www.archive.org/details/pineknotstoryofkOObart 


"Tell  your  father  that  I  forbid  him  to  open  school." 

(.See  page  60.) 


Pine  Knot 

A  Story  of  Kentucky  Life 


By 

William  E.   Barton 

Author  of  A  Hero  in  Homespun,  Etc. 


Illustrated  by  F.  T.  Merrill 


16& 


New  York 

D.  Appleton  and  Company 

1900 


Copyright,  1900 
By   D.  APPLETON   AND  COMPANY 


TO    MV    FRIEND 

Mrs.  MARY   E.  STEARNS, 

AND 
IN    HONOR   OF   THE   WORK   OF   HER   HUSBAND, 

Major  GEORGE    L.   STEARNS. 


5342S7 


CONTENTS 


I. — The  Pine  Knot  ghost    . 
II. — Smith  Hemphill's  passengers 
III. — Uncle  Simon  Peter 
IV. — The  school  board  chairman 
V. — A  possible  castaway 
VI. — The  chimney  corner 
VII. — Twenty  dollars  a  month     . 
VIII. — The  making  of  a  philanthropist 
IX. — The  surprise  at  the  schoolhouse 
X. — The  top  side  of  the  earth. 
XI. — Widow  Braniman  and  her  neighbor 
XII. — Daddy  Campbell's  funeral 

XIII. — A  VERSATILE   SCHOOLMASTER 

XIV. — Granny  White's  remedies 
XV. — The  heart  of  Joe  Lakes 

XVI. — The  same  ghost  or  another 
XVII. — Swift's  buried  secret    . 
XVIII. — The  thread  that  slipped 

XIX. — The  circular  rainbow  . 

XX. — The  widow's  revenge     . 

XXI. — The  meaning  of  it  . 
XXII. — The  glorious  discovery 
XXIII. — For  the  cause  of  freedom 
XXIV. — The  mob,  the  man,  and  the  ghosts 


PAGE 
I 

23 

35 

44 

56 

64 

78 

88 

100 

112 

127 

135 
144 

151 
163 
169 
184 

193 
203 
211 
220 
231 
237 
243 


viii  Pine  Knot 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

XXV. — A   BLUE-GRASS  CHRISTMAS 253 

XXVI. — The  new  teacher 263 

XXVII. — The  Freedom  Mining  Company         .        .        .  271 

XXVIII. — A  MEMBER   OF  THE   STATE   GUARD            .           .           .  277 

XXIX. — Near  the  cataract 286 

XXX. — The  plunge 294 

XXXI. — Fanatic  or  philanthropist        ....  312 

XXXII. — In  Lexington 320 

XXXIII. — What's  in  a  name? 328 

XXXIV. — With  the  rank  of  captain        ....  337 

XXXV. — An  ideal  and  a  reality 343 


LIST  OF   ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACIKG   PAGE 

"  Tell   your   father   that  I  forbid  him  to  open 

school  " Frontispiece 

"Who  are  you?" I7g 

"If  we  let  ye  go,  will  ye  git  out?"  .....  247 

"  I  can  never  repay  you  " 314 

ix 


V. 


PINE   KNOT 


CHAPTER   I 

THE   PINE    KNOT   GHOST 

Noel  Davis  moved  his  inverted  nail  keg  a  little 
farther  within  the  shade  in  front  of  Bill  Blake's  store, 
kicking  Widow  Braniman's  long-eared  hound  out  of 
the  way.  He  was  moving  less  to  get  out  of  the  sun 
than  to  get  farther  from  his  companions.  He  was 
feeling  a  little  sore,  for  they  had  laughed  at  him,  and 
he  had  just  had  charged  to  his  account  a  bushel  of 
corn  meal  which  he  had  too  confidently  offered  to  pay 
for  if  Granny  White  could  pack  it  home.  With  visi- 
ble efifort,  but  still  successfully,  she  tugged  at  the  sack 
until  she  got  it  upon  her  shoulder,  and  then  tottered 
off  home  with  it.  Noel  watched  her  eagerly  as  at 
times  she  seemed  likely  to  fail,  but  at  last  when  she 
gathered  strength  with  the  effort  and  moved  more 
briskly  to  her  cabin,  he  joined  with  the  rest  in  shout- 
ing words  of  encouragement  to  her,  and  pretended 
that  he  had  sought  that  way  of  dispensing  a  charity. 
No  one  contradicted  this  declaration,  and  no  one  be- 
lieved it,  and  the  group,  on  one  pretext  or  another, 
laughed  at  Noel  several  times  thereafter. 

"Leave  the  dog  alone,  cyan't  ye?"  demanded 
Widow  Braniman,  coming  to  the  door  in  answer  to 
the  familiar  yelp. 


2  Pine  Knot 

"Who's  tetched  yer  dog?"  demanded  Noel. 

"  You  kicked  him,"  said  she. 

"  You  cyan't  prove  it,"  retorted  Davis. 

"  I  don't  have  obleeged  to  prove  it,"  replied 
the  widow.  "  They  hain't  nary  'nother  man  any- 
whurs  near  Pine  Knot  that's  triflin'  mean  enough  to 
do  it." 

With  this  sally  the  widow  returned  to  the  inspec- 
tion of  some  calico,  the  purchase  of  which,  if  she 
really  decided  to  buy  it,  would  require  all  her  eggs 
and  butter  for  some  time.  Bill  Blake  had  received 
a  new  order  of  goods  since  last  mail  day,  and  several 
women,  as  well  as  the  usual  number  of  men,  had  come 
to  await  the  advent  of  the  mail. 

Dan  Brafiford  had  not  arrived  yet.  It  was  not 
time  for  him  to  arrive  for  that  matter,  and  even  if  it 
had  been  there  was  more  time.  Nothing  else  was  so 
plentiful  about  Pine  Knot.  If,  therefore,  Dan  de- 
layed, as  was  sometimes  inevitable,  and  the  mail  was 
an  hour  or  four  hours  late.  Pine  Knot  accepted  the 
fact  not  without  comment,  but  with  composure.  The 
men  outside  and  the  women  within  were  both  con- 
genially occupied. 

The  men,  who  had  been  animated  momentarily  by 
the  promise  of  a  set-to  between  the  widow  and  Noel, 
settled  back  again  into  their  listless  attitudes.  Neze 
Post  looked  dejectedly  into  the  puddle  of  tobacco 
juice  between  his  feet.  That  was  his  customary  posi- 
tion when  in  repose,  his  elbows  resting  on  his  knees. 
He  was  unusually  dejected  to-day.  The  hotel  busi- 
ness was  not  flourishing  of  late.  The  single  tourist 
who  had  come  to  town  this  week  had  gone  to  Green 
Best's   new  hotel.     Green   sat  to-day  with   his   box 


The  Pine  Knot  Ghost 


tipped  back,  his  thumbs  under  his  knit  "  galluses,'* 
and  his  cob  pipe  tilted  high. 

"What  ails  ye,  Neze?"  he  asked.  "Tears  lack 
ye  ain't  so  pert  as  you  uster  be  when  we  was  a-settin' 
up  to  the  same  gal." 

"  Old  age  comin'  on,  I  reckon,"  said  Ebenezer, 
with  a  faint  attempt  at  pleasantry. 

"  I  don't  reckon  hit's  that,"  said  Green.  "  Must 
be  piety.  You  kep'  both  the  preachers  over  last  Sun- 
day." 

"  They  ain't  much  money  in  keepin'  preachers," 
said  Neze.  "  P'ti'lar  when  they  feed  their  own 
beastis." 

"  They  don't  let  'em  starve,  that's  a  fac' !  "  laughed 
Green.  "  When  old  Preacher  Taulbee  comes  on  his 
horse — hit  ain't  rightly  a  horse,  but  jist  the  frame 
of  one — you  kin  hang  me  if  I  don't  believe  it's  all  the 
feed  that  old  nag  gits  till  his  next  meetin'  day,  without 
it's  faith  and  papaw  bushes." 

"  Neze  gits  the  preachers  and  you  git  the  cattle 
buyers,  ain't  that  so.  Green  ?  "  asked  Blake. 

"  Oh,  Pm  liable  to  git  the  preachers  next  time," 
said  Green.  "  They  go  around.  If  they  give  Neze 
any  special  attention  hit's  because  he  needs  it  worse 
than  what  I  do.  But  I  reckon  I  need  money  worse'n 
what  he  does,  and  that's  comin'  to-wards  me  a  leetle 
mite  faster  now.  Things  goes  where  they's  the  most 
need,  I've  most  gen'rally  always  noticed." 

Neze  colored.  "  I  don't  think  hit's  plumb  right 
for  you  to  put  up  that  ar  new  sign  that  calls  yourn  The 
Best  Hotel,"  said  he. 

Green  laughed,  and  the  others  joined  with  him,  for 
Green's  answer  was  already  known. 


4  Pine  Knot 

"  Hit's  a  case  of  needcessity,  Neze,"  he  said.  "  I 
couldn't  call  it  The  Post  Hotel." 

"  But  hit  ain't  nary  bit  nor  grain  better  than  mine," 
urged  Neze. 

"  I  never  said  hit  was,"  rejoined  Best,  with  con- 
tagious good  humor.  "  I  jest  call  my  hotel  by  my 
own  name,  and  you  kin  call  your  hotel  by  yourn." 

"  I  don't  want  to  call  it  by  my  own  name,"  said 
Post.  "  But  if  I  was  to,  my  name  wouldn't  be  no 
sorter  insult  to  yourn.     But  yourn  is  to  mine." 

"  Good  lordy,  Neze,"  said  Green,  laughing  louder 
than  ever.  "  Hit's  a  right  daggon  shame  ef  a  feller 
cyan't  use  his  own  name  without  some  other  feller 
feelin'  lack  he  was  insulted.  I'd  pinely  like  to  ac- 
commodate ye,  Neze,  I  would  for  a  fack ;  but  the 
truth  is  I  cyan't  afford  to  pay  the  Legislature  to 
change  my  name.  Of  course  you  needn't  under- 
stand that  my  hotel's  better'n  yourn,  but  I  don't  see 
no  help  for  it  but  to  use  the  name  that  the  Lord  and 
my  daddy  gin  me." 

This  explanation  did  not  satisfy  Neze,  who  knew 
that  Green  was  chaffing  him  and  gloating  over  the 
situation.  The  name  had  unmistakable  advertising 
value,  and,  while  it  was  respectable  to  keep  the 
preachers,  they  were  likely  to  go  to  Best's  or  some- 
where else  next  meeting  day ;  and  they  paid  nothing, 
and  were  as  hungry  as  their  horses. 

"  I  wisht  Dan  would  come,"  said  Green,  taking  up 
the  conversation  again  after  a  pause.  Green  had  led 
in  the  laughter  against  Noel,  and  had  worsted  Neze 
in  the  argument  over  the  sign,  but  there  are  disadvan- 
tages in  a  victory  too  sweeping,  and  Green  felt  the  ob- 
ligation of  starting  the  conversation  which  the  demor- 


The  Pine  Knot  Ghost 


alization  of  Neze  and  Noel  had  brought  to  a  temporary 
close. 

"  What  d'ye  want  Dan  to  come  for  ? "  asked 
Blake.     "  He  ain't  got  no  mail  for  you." 

"  I'd  sorter  like  to  hear  about  politics,"  said  Green. 

"  They  say,"  said  Neze,  "  that  things  are  getting 
pinely  mixed  up." 

"  Yes,"  said  Green,  "  the  nomination  of  this  man 
Lincoln  is  a  mighty  sorter  surprise  to  the  Jimmy- 
crats." 

"  Hit'll  be  a  surprise  to  them  that  nominated  him 
come  November,"  said  Neze. 

"  I  ain't  right  sure  of  that,"  said  Blake.  "  I've 
got  a  sorter  idy  they're  goin'  to  run  that  man  in." 

"  Tell  you  what  I'll  do,  Neze,"  said  Green ;  "  I'll 
undertake  to  eat  and  sleep  the  Republicans  and  you 
take  keer  of  the  Jimmycrats." 

"  All  right,"  said  Neze.  "  Will  you  call  your 
hotel  The  Black  Republican  ?  " 

"  I'll  take  that  under  advisemaint,  as  the  jedge 
says,"  said  Green. 

The  men  laughed  at  Green  this  time,  and  good 
nature  was  restored  all  around. 

"  Here  comes  Jake  Crawford,"  said  Noel.  "  How- 
dy, Jake.     Got  ary  flask  about  ye  ?  " 

"  Nary  un,"  said  Jake.  "  Been  a-movin'  my  still- 
house." 

"Wharisitat?" 

"  Right  acrost  the  Gov'maint  survey  for  the  State 
line." 

"  What's  yer  idy  in  that  ?  " 

"  Well,  they're  a-gittin'  sorter  ornery  about  the 
laws  agin  sellin'  and  stillin',  and  I've  sorter  made  up' 


6  Pine  Knot 

my  mind  to  preepare,  as  the  feller  says,  for  the  eenevi- 
table.  When  I  have  my  still  in  Kaintuck  and  my 
worm  in  Tennessy,  who's  a-goin'  to  say  whar  the  stuff 
was  made?  And  ef  I  stand  in  Tennessy,  and  the  man 
that  buys  it  stands  in  Kaintuck,  whar  is  the  sale? 
And  ef  the  sheriff  comes  from  one  State,  and  finds  the 
barrel  rolled  acrost  the  floor  into  the  other,  and  me 
a-settin'  on  it  lack  a  law-abidin'  citizen,  what's  he  got 
to  do,  as  a  man  and  a  gentleman,  but  jest  to  own  up 
beat,  and  step  acrost  to  whar  he  hain't  got  no  juris- 
diction, and  take  a  drink,  and  go  home  about  his  busi- 
ness, sayin'  that  when  he  arrived  he  found  I  was  out 
of  the  State." 

"  Jake,"  said  Green  admiringly,  "  by  ginger, 
you'd  orter  be  a  member  of  the  Legislature !  I  never 
heerd  tell  of  nothing  slicker !  " 

"  Well,  I  jist  now  begin  to  see  the  use  of  this 
Gov'maint  survey,"  said  Neze. 

"  Yes,"  said  Jake,  "  the  State  line  is  a  real  special 
Providaince,  When  I  git  fired  up  agin,  boys,  come 
over  and  we'll  have  somethin'  wet." 

We  know  many  things  now  about  which  there 
was  once  a  reasonable  doubt.  Thereby  we  have  need- 
lessly increased  our  sorrows.  The  whole  world 
knows  now  that  Pine  Knot  is  in  Kentucky,  but  in 
i860  it  was  assumed  to  be  exactly  on  the  line  between 
that  State  and  Tennessee.  What  good  it  has  done 
any  one  to  learn  that  the  line  runs  two  miles  south 
it  would  be  hard  to  say,  and  it  compelled  Jake  Craw- 
ford to  move  his  bar  again. 

However,  he  could  afford  it.  No  man  profited 
better  than  Jake  by  the  proximity  of  the  State  line 
except  old  Tommy  Jones  at  Cumberland  Gap  after 


The  Pine  Knot  Ghost 


the  war.  He  took  the  shanty  which  the  Federal  sol- 
diers built  exactly  under  the  war-time  bridge  that 
connected  the  pinnacles,  and  then  sold  liquor  till  the 
railroad  went  through  and  demolished  the  bridge  and 
old  Tommy's  business.  Tommy  Jones  had  both  Ken- 
tucky and  Tennessee  as  a  base  of  operations,  and  if 
he  had  been  pressed  hard,  as  some  good  men  have 
been  in  these  later  years,  by  a  concerted  attack  of  offi- 
cers from  both  States  at  once,  he  had  five  or  six 
square,  or  rather  triangular,  feet  of  the  very  tip  end  of 
Virginia  in  his  chimney  corner.  That  is,  it  was  so 
believed  then.  More  recent  surveys,  forever  unset- 
tling things,  have  changed  this,  too,  and  moved  the 
corner  a  distance  up  the  hill  where  a  three-colored 
sandstone  rock  marks  the  corner  of  the  three  States. 
The  stone  below,  which  people  sit  upon  to  snap  their 
kodaks  at  each  other  and  then  chip  for  relics,  is  sim- 
ply a  witness  stone  now,  though  it  serves  the  igno- 
rance of  tourists  quite  as  well  as  the  genuine  mark, 
and  for  that  matter  it  served  the  ignorance,  if  you 
choose  to  call  it  so,  of  Tommy  Jones. 

But  Tommy  Jones  is  gone  from  the  Gap,  and  Jake 
Crawford's  new  store  on  the  new  State  line  is  as  ob- 
solete as  his  old  store  in  Pine  Knot  itself.  Yet — and 
I  have  always  counted  it  a  curious  fact — the  State-line 
habit  clings  to  Jake.  When  his  regular  business 
became  demoralized  through  the  joint  operation  of 
the  officers  of  the  law  and  the  manufacturers  of  the 
dirty  red  whisky  they  make  in  Cincinnati  (the  moun- 
tain whisky  is  uncolored),  he  was  driven  back  to 
making  his  own  liquor  in  order  to  have  a  good  article, 
and  to  be  able  to  sell  it  at  a  living  profit.  Now  rev- 
enue officers  have  no  more  regard  for  a  State  line 


8  Pine  Knot 

than  they  have  for  human  rights  in  general ;  but 
Jake's  present  establishment,  whose  exact  location 
is  known  to  certain  discreet  individuals  in  a  very 
rocky  hollow  among  the  spurs  of  Pine  Mountain,  is 
built  on  the  line  of  the  newer  Government  survey.  It 
must  be  either  from  sentiment  or  from  pure  force  of 
habit,  but  the  round-bellied  copper  still  is  in  Ken- 
tucky, and  the  barrel  containing  the  worm  is  in 
Tennessee. 

Jake  Crawford  is  gone,  and  Bill  Blake  no  longer 
keeps  the  store  and  post  office,  and  the  hooting, 
whanging  locomotive  brings  a  daily  mail.  Few,  if 
any,  of  those  whose  history  this  book  relates  now  live 
at  Pine  Knot.  Time  changes  everything;  and  the 
war — that  awful  Government  survey  that  staked  ofif 
with  little  rows  of  white  marble  stones  at  the  head  of 
low  mounds  the  whole  eternity  that  had  been  from 
the  present  and  the  future — the  war  made  more 
than  war's  usual  changes  about  Pine  Knot.  In  one 
of  its  many  invasions  of  the  place,  when  the  Federal 
army  was  on  the  Cumberland  and  was  moving  south 
to  capture  Knoxville  and  Cumberland  Gap,  a  Union 
teamster  was  shot  from  ambush  near  there.  Whether 
it  was  the  commanding  general  or  some  of  his  officers 
of  the  commissary  department  that  gave  the  order 
to  burn  the  houses,  is  perhaps  uncertain.  Anyway, 
it  was  assumed  that  a  region  where  teamsters  were 
shot  could  not  be  counted  loyal  territory,  and  a  com- 
pany was  detached  to  ride  from  Point  Burnside  to  the 
State  line  and  burn  every  house  along  the  way.  Pos- 
sibly those  of  us  who  knew  the  inhabitants  of  Pine 
Knot  before  and  during  the  war  might  hazard  a  guess 
as  to  who  shot  the  teamster.     At  any  rate,  we  know 


The  Pine  Knot  Ghost 


that  those  who  would  have  done  it  were  few.  But 
the  ofificers  in  the  Federal  army  were  slow  in  learning 
how  few  there  were  in  that  region  who  wished 
them  ill. 

Many  thousands  of  Americans  have  wept  over 
the  destruction  of  Grand  Pre  and  the  scattering  of  its 
ill-fated  inhabitants  by  their  enemies ;  possibly  some- 
time some  one  will  write  of  tragedies  not  wholly  un- 
like it  in  which  communities  in  our  own  land  suffered 
at  the  hands  of  their  friends. 

They  burned  every  house  in  Pine  Knot,  and  for 
thirty  miles  north.  The  houses  were  not  many,  but 
they  were  all  burned.  And  yet  they  spared  the  house 
in  which  Granny  White  lay  a-dying.  The  captain 
himself  went  in  to  see  if  she  could  not  be  moved. 
They  say  he  wiped  his  eyes  as  he  came  out.  She 
begged  him  to  bring  in  the  flag,  and  when  it  was 
brought  in  she  kissed  the  hem  and  thanked  God 
that  she  had  lived  to  see  it  again.  It  was  evident 
that  she  was  not  one  to  shoot  teamsters,  and  the  cap- 
tain, who  followed  his  hard  orders  to  the  letter  else- 
where, set  a  guard  before  her  house  with  orders  to 
shoot  any  man  that  would  do  it  harm.  The  flag,  too, 
was  hung  over  the  door. 

But  the  other  houses  were  burned.  It  was  a  small 
afifair  in  its  way,  for  the  houses  were  so  few.  But  the 
husbands  and  fathers  and  brothers  and  sons  of  those 
homeless  women  and  children  who  shivered  that  night 
about  the  embers  of  their  homes  were  fighting  in  the 
Union  army.  So  many  things  of  the  kind  happened, 
and  on  a  scale  so  much  larger,  that  it  would  not  be 
worth  while  to  mention  this  one,  except  that  it  ac- 
counts in  part  for  the  fact  that  the  present  residents 


lo  Pine  Knot 

of  Pine  Knot  are  not  those  who  were  there  "  before 
the  war."  They  may  be  talked  about  with  freedom, 
therefore,  and  with  no  danger  of  hurting  anybody's 
feehngs. 

That  is  enough  about  the  war  for  the  present, 
though  we  shall  come  to  it  again.  Unless  it  might 
be  worth  while  to  remember,  as  we  are  leaving  the 
subject,  that  Granny  White  died  that  night.  The 
whole  town  was  there  to  see  her  die,  as  it  probably 
would  have  been  in  any  event,  for  the  solemn  dignity 
of  death  is  not  lightly  regarded  at  Pine  Knot.  Granny 
White  did  not  know  who  had  burned  the  town.  She 
thought  that  it  had  been  the  Confederates  from  Knox- 
ville,  and  that  the  captain  whom  she  had  seen  had 
driven  them  oflf,  though  too  late  to  save  the  houses. 
The  friends  let  her  think  so.  It  was  a  fearful  respon- 
sibility, and  lay  hard  on  their  consciences  that  they 
let  her  go  into  eternity  with  a  falsehood  of  their  own 
making  or  conniving,  but  they  could  not  help  it.  She 
died  blessing  God  that  she  had  lived  to  see  the  flag 
again.  They  tried  vainly  each  to  persuade  some  one 
else  to  tell  her  the  truth,  but  while  they  were  agree- 
ing that  she  ought  not  to  die  cherishing  a  delusion, 
and  that  some  one  ought  to  tell  her,  but  were  not 
agreed  who  should  do  it,  she  died,  and  the  happy 
look  upon  her  sunken,  toothless  old  face  was  there 
when  the  earth  covered  the  coffin.  She  died,  and 
that  ended  the  discussion,  and  they  turned  the 
two  or  three  pictures  to  the  wall  and  stopped  the 
clock. 

But  all  this  happened  later  and  belongs  to  a  story 
that  is  yet  to  be  told.  Granny  White  was  alive  and 
well  in  i860,  and,  old  as  she  was,  packed  home  the 


The  Pine  Knot  Ghost  ii 

bushel  of  meal  for  which  Noel  Davis  had  promised 
to  pay.  The  men  still  sat  about  waiting  for  the 
mail. 

"  Heerd  tell  anything  about  the  ghost  lately, 
Noel  ?  "  asked  Jake. 

"Which  ghost?"  asked  Noel. 

"  Deck  Morgan's." 

"  How  d'ye  know  hit's  Deck's  ?  " 

"  Whose  is  it  if  it  ain't  Deck's  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know's  it's  any  person's,"  said  Noel. 

"  You  don't  ? "  exclaimed  Widow  Braniman, 
coming  to  the  door.  "  Then  how'd  it  come  to  be  a 
ghost?" 

"  Of  course  it's  Deck's,"  said  Neze ;  "  and  that's 
the  quare  thing  about  it." 

"  I  don't  see  nothin'  more  quare  about  it  bein' 
Deck's  nor  about  ary  'nother  person's,"  said  Noel. 

"  Why,  sartin,"  said  Green,  "  Deck's  ghost  hadn't 
no  ambition  agin  Pine  Knot." 

"  No,  nor  no  person  was  ever  ambitious  agin  him," 
said  Widow  Braniman. 

"  Then,"  said  Green,  "  he  was  so  mighty  anxious 
to  rest  when  he  was  alive  I  don't  see  his  idy  in  not 
restin'  now  he's  got  a  chance." 

"  Deck  never  was  no  hand  to  exert  hisself  when 
they  wa'n't  no  needcessity,"  said  Blake.  "  He  uster 
allow  that  he  was  jist  naterally  horned  tard," 

In  truth  his  natal  fatigue  had  pursued  Deek  at  a 
leisurely  pace  all  his  life,  and  there  was  apparent  jus- 
tice in  the  complaint  that  he  ought  to  rest  now  that 
opportunity  afforded. 

"  Ef  they  was  ary  person  livin'  that  Deek  had  a 
gredge  again,"  said  Neze,  "  hit  would  be  diflfernt." 


12  Pine  Knot 

"  Without  it  was  his  wife,"  said  Widow  Brani- 
man. 

"  Shore  enough,"  said  Jake.  "  But  she's  married 
to  Abednego  Williams,  and  they've  done  gone  to 
Missouri." 

"  I  wisht  the  ghost  'd  go  thar,  too,"  said  Noel. 

"  Well,  if  he  don't  pester  them  I  don't  see  why  he 
should  pester  us,"  said  Green. 

"  I  reckon  'Bednego  don't  need  no  ghosts,"  said 
Widow  Braniman, 

There  was  a  laugh  at  this. 

"  Well,  if  'Bednego  is  gittin'  his  sheer  the  ghost 
mout  go  to  haintin'  his  wife,  or  less  let  us  alone,  one." 

"  Wa'n't  she  a  main  buster?"  asked  Jake.  "1 
uster  go  by  on  my  way  to  the  mill,  and  he'd  be  in  his 
cornfield,  above  the  house.  That  cornfield's  so  steep, 
anyhow,  a  feller's  in  plumb  danger  of  fallin'  out 
of  it  and  breakin'  his  laig.  But  Deck  wa'n't  in  no 
danger.  He  couldn't  even  fall  fast  enough  to  hurt 
hisself.  Lordy,  I've  seed  him  when  he'd  see  some 
person  comin'  down  the  road,  and  he'd  yell,  '  Hello, 
Jake,  I  want  to  see  you  a  minute ! '  Then  I'd  pull  up 
under  the  dead  sycamore  where  the  haint  walks  now, 
and  he'd  come  down  sorter  lack  they  was  somethin' 
in  him  pullin'  back  agin  the  slope  of  the  hill  and  hatin' 
to  come  down  so  fast,  and  down  he'd  come,  sorter 
makin'  a  swing  around  not  to  come  too  clost  to  the 
door,  and  Peggy  she'd  yell  out :  '  Wha'  d'ye  wanter  go 
down  to  the  road  fur?  You  hain't  got  no  business 
with  Jake.  Let  him  go  on  to  mill,  and  git  his  turn 
ground  and  git  back  to  the  stillhouse  afore  night, 
and  you  go  back  ter  your  hoein' !  The  crab  grass  '11 
take  that  ar  corn  if  you  don't  stir  yer  lazy  bones ! 


The  Pine  Knot  Ghost  13 

Loafin'  all  day  yistidy  at  the  store,  and  now  no  good 
when  ye  git  ter  work ;  runnin'  off  down  thar  to  that 
ar  sycamore  tree  ter  see  Jake !  I  never  seed  sech  an- 
other triflin',  no-'count  man  in  all  my  horned  days ! ' 
But  Deck  wouldn't  never  stop,  and  jest  hurried  on — 
ef  it's  right  to  say  that  Deek  ever  hurried — and  thar 
he'd  set  under  the  old  dead  sycamore,  carvin'  its 
roots  with  his  barlow  and  yellin'  back  to  Peggy  onct 
in  a  while  when  he  das'n't  let  on  not  to  hear,  '  All 
right,  Peggy,  I'm  comin'  tereckly ! '  but  I  allers 
knowed  that  he  was  in  for  another  ten  minutes.  And 
he  was  a  right  divertin'  talker.  And  that  old  syca- 
more root  was  his  favor-ite  seat." 

"  I  allers  allowed  that  that  ar  nail  kaig  was  his 
favor-ite  seat,"  said  Blake.  "  He'd  set  thar  and  tell 
yarns  by  the  hour,  his  old  nag  standin'  hitched  to  the 
fence  thar,  till  the  fear  of  Peggy  'd  drive  him  home  or 
I'd  lock  up  the  store,  one." 

"  Peggy  was  a  main  hard  one,  that's  a  fact,"  said 
Green ;  "  but  then  we  all  suffer  that  away." 

"  You  don't  suffer  half  so  much  as  what  you'd 
orter,"  retorted  his  wife.  "  I  do  believe  Peggy  had  a 
hard  time  of  it." 

"  So  did  Deek — and  me,"  laughed  her  husband. 

"  You  both  got  a  good  right  to  a  hard  time,"  she 
answered,  and  the  laugh  turned  on  Green,  who  re- 
joiced to  have  his  wife  get  the  better  of  him  in  public. 

Peggy  was  not  the  only  woman  who  complained 
of  Deek.  Many  a  wife  whose  husband  did  not  come 
home  promptly  from  the  store  or  mill  told  her  good 
man  that  she  "  jes'  knowed  he'd  be'n  aloafin'  a-longer 
that  triflin',  no-'count  Deek  Morgan  " ;  to  which  state- 
ment she  would  add  such  specific  denunciation  as  the 


14  Pine  Knot 

particular  occasion  called  for,  ending  with  a  command 
to  her  husband  to  have  nothing  more  to  do  with 
Deek.  But  these  same  women — and  it  grieves  me  to 
record  their  inconsistency — received  Deek  when  he 
came  to  their  kitchen  doors  with  scant  civility  at  first, 
to  be  sure,  but  with  a  tartness  which  gradually  wore 
off  when  the  owner  felt  that  it  had  had  its  moral  effect. 
Ill  humor,  except  Peggy's,  always  lost  itself  in  his 
presence.  He  was  so  humble,  so  genial,  and  knew 
so  many  good  stories  and  so  much  gossip.  If  there 
was  anything  good  to  eat  in  the  house  Deek  always 
got  it.  After  one  of  his  visits,  the  good  housewives 
of  Pine  Knot  were  wont  to  profess  shame  that  they 
had  harbored  him,  and  to  tell  what  they  would  do 
with  such  a  man  if  he  were  their  husband.  Few  liv- 
ing men  have  been  more  hypothetically  married  for 
the  sake  of  working  out  a  wholesome  reformation 
than  Deek,  But  these  good  women  were  wont  to 
add  as  a  last  word  that  "  Deek  wa'n't  so  bad  a  feller, 
atter  all,  ef  he  jes'  had  a  chance  to  home.  What  won- 
der, with  a  wife  that  lietcheled  him  all  the  time,  ef  a 
man  did  git  mighty  triflin'  an'  no  'count  ?  " 

"What's  Deck's  haint  been  a-doin'  now?"  asked 
Bill. 

"  Oh,  hit  jest  raises  up  in  front  of  the  dead  syca- 
more and  says :  '  Oh,  leave  me  be,  Peggy ;  hit  ain't 
mornin'  yit!'  or  'Hold  on,  boys,  I  know  another 
un ! '  lack  he  was  a-goin'  to  tell  a  story.  Hit  would  be 
right  comical  ef  it  wa'n't  so  mighty  skeery." 

"  I  reckon  that  house  that  was  Deck's  will  stand 
empty  a  right  smart  spell,"  said  Neze. 

"  I  heerd  it  was  goin'  to  be  occupied,"  said 
Noel. 


The  Pine  Knot  Ghost  15 

"  Did  ye  ?  Land  o'  massy !  Who  ?  "  demanded 
Widow  Braniman. 

"  I  dunno,"  said  Noel.     "  I  didn't  hear  no  more." 

"  Here  comes  Dan  with  the  mail,"  said  Green 
Best,  and  they  started  up,  expectant. 

"  That  ain't  Dan,"  said  Neze  Post.  "  That  horse 
ain't  a  patchin'  to  hisn.  You  could  cut  four  len'ths 
off  Bill's  for  the  mill,  and  then  he'd  have  more  cord 
wood  left  in  him  than  they  is  in  that  nag." 

"  Bill's  horse  is  providaintially  built  for  carryin' 
the  mails,"  suggested  Widow  Braniman,  coming  to 
the  door  just  then ;  "  they  couldn't  no  common  horse 
ford  high  water  lack  hisn." 

"  Hit's  Preacher  Jim  Fletcher,"  said  Best.  "  His 
nag  has  a  white  left  hind  foot  and  a  star  in  his  face." 

"  I'd  like  to  swap  my  nag  to  hisn,"  said  Noel 
Davis. 

"  Like  to  swap  yer  chance  of  heaven  with  him,  too, 
wouldn't  ye,  Noel  ?  "  asked  Bill  Blake,  for  the  whole 
business  of  shopping  had  been  suspended  at  the  first 
word  that  a  horse  that  might  be  Dan  Brafford's  was 
in  sight,  and  all  within  were  at  the  door. 

"  I  wouldn't  swap  hit  for  yourn,"  retorted  Noel. 

"  Mine  ain't  for  sale,"  said  Bill. 

"  I  didn't  allow  you  had  anything  that  wa'n't  for 
sale,"  said  Neze. 

"  Amounts  to  the  same  thing,"  said  Green. 
"  Reason  he  hain't  got  none  for  sale  is  he  hain't  got 
none  nohow." 

"  What  you  alls  pickin'  at  Bill  fur  ?  "  asked  Widow 
Braniman.  "  Bill,  ain't  you  got  ary  friend  to  stand  up 
fur  ye?" 

"  Bill  don't  need  yer  sympathy,"  said  Green,  "  and 


1 6  Pine  Knot 

hit's  wasted  on  him.  Bill's  done  married.  Here's 
Noel  here,  he  needs  sympathy  more'n  ary  'nother 
person,  and  being  single  hit  mout  not  be  wasted." 

"  Green  Best !  "  said  Mrs.  Braniman,  "  if  I  could 
get  at  you  with  this  here  hickory  I'd  pinely  w'ar  you 
out ! " 

"  All  right,  Mis'  Braniman,"  cried  Green  amid  the 
laughter  of  all.  "  Looks  like  I'd  need  sympathy  my- 
self, if  I  keep  on." 

"  Then  you  best  not  keep  on,"  said  the  widow. 
"  How  do  you  make  out  to  live  with  him  ?  "  she  con- 
tinued, directing  her  question  to  Mrs.  Best,  who  was 
inspecting  some  cotton  sheeting,  and  had  brought 
the  bolt  to  the  door  to  see  it  to  better  advantage. 

"  I  just  have  to  stand  it  best  I  kin,"  said  Mrs.  Best 
admiringly. 

"  Law,  if  she  was  as  bald  as  I  be !  "  said  Best,  rub- 
bing his  hand  over  his  thin  hair. 

"  I'd  pull  it  all  out  if  you  was  my  man,"  said  the 
widow.  "  'Twouldn't  be  no  more  than  what  you  de- 
serve." 

"  Howdy,  parson  ?  "  called  Blake.  "  'Light  and 
lift  your  saddle." 

The  young  minister  did  not  reply  to  the  salutation, 
but  hitched  his  horse  to  a  swinging  beech  limb,  and, 
flinging  his  leg  over  the  saddle,  swung  himself  to  the 
ground,  and  taking  his  saddlebags  on  his  arm  strode 
up  to  the  front  of  the  store. 

He  was  very  tall  and  and  swarthy,  with  high  cheek 
bones  that  stood  out  prominently  on  his  sallow  face. 
His  head  was  held  erect  on  a  strong  neck  that  seemed 
even  larger  than  it  was  in  the  loose  and  rolling  collar 
of  his  unstarched  white  shirt.     He  wore  no  vest,  and 


The  Pine  Knot  Ghost  17 

his  coat  and  trousers  were  of  jeans,  and  fitted  loosely. 
His  stride  was  long  and  swinging,  and  his  whole  body 
hurled  itself  forward  at  each  step.  Unlike  the  aver- 
age mountaineer,  who  walks  leisurely  and  with  regard 
for  the  inequalities  of  the  surface  of  the  earth,  Fletcher 
strode  forward  over  stones  and  roots,  with  his  black 
eye  straight  ahead.  His  eye  was  fixed  on  Davis,  and 
he  disregarded  the  greetings  of  the  others,  saying: 

"  Noel  Davis,  I'd  like  to  see  you  a  minute." 

"  Well,  you're  a-lookin'  right  at  me,  ain't  you  ?  " 
asked  Davis  in  a  surly  tone. 

"  Yes,  I  am,  and  I've  had  my  eye  on  you  for  some 
time.     I  want  to  talk  to  you  alone." 

Nothing  is  more  common  in  the  mountains  than 
the  calling  of  a  person  to  step  out  for  private  con- 
ference. The  homes  and  public  places  afiford  little 
opportunity  for  privacy,  and  personal  conversations 
are  almost  invariably  preceded  by  a  request  to  step 
out.  To  decline  such  an  invitation  is  usually  the 
mark  of  discourtesy  or  cowardice. 

"  If  you  got  anything  to  say  to  me  say  it  here," 
said  Davis. 

"  All  right,  I  can  say  it  here.  I  want  to  know 
what  you  gave  that  school  away  for  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  wanted  to  say  something  to  me  ? 
'Pears  like  you're  a-astin'  me  to  say  something  to 
you." 

"  I'll  say  something  to  you,  then.  You  promised 
me  last  year,  you  and  Bill  Blake  here,  that  I  could 
keep  the  school  this  year.  You  allowed  there'd  be 
public  money  enough  to  pay  rising  twenty  dollars  a 
month  for  a  three  months'  school,  and  you  promised 
it  to  me." 


i8  Pine  Knot 

"  Maybe  Bill  did,"  said  Noel ;  "  I  didn't  have  much 
to  do  with  it." 

"  You  needn't  lay  it  on  to  me,"  said  Bill.  "  What 
I  agree  to  I  stick  to.  I  thought  Jim  kept  a  good 
school  last  year,  and  I  told  him  I  was  willing  he 
should  have  it  agin.  You  said  the  same,  and  so  did 
Jake  Trosper." 

"  Jake  Trosper  hain't  got  nothing  to  do  with  it," 
said  Noel.     "  He  wasn't  re-elected." 

"  No,  but  you  two  held  over,  and  you're  a  major- 
ity of  the  trustees,"  said  Fletcher.  "  I  could  a  had 
the  Marsh  Creek  school — I  preach  there  the  fourth 
Sunday — but  I  counted  on  this  one.  But  Bill  Trosper 
went  out,  and  Peleg  Goodwin  he  got  on,  and  he  and 
Noel  Davis  have  given  the  school  to  a  straggler  no 
person  knows  anything  about." 

"  Is  that  so,  Noel  ?  "  asked  Bill.  "  Have  you  give 
the  school  away  and  not  said  nothin'  to  me  ?  " 

"  Peleg  didn't  'low  it  was  necessary,"  said  Noel. 
"  He  said  we  was  a  majority ;  and  we  had  a  chance  to 
git  a  first-class,  A  No.  i  teacher,  and  Peleg  he 
thought  we'd  best  do  it,  and  I  sorter  gin  my  consent." 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say  against  Peleg  Goodwin," 
said  Fletcher,  "  you  all  know  what  he  is ;  but  I've  got 
this  to  say  about  you.  You  promised,  and  you  broke 
your  promise.  You've  told  a  plumb  lie,  and  you 
don't  have  sand  or  honor  ary  one  enough  to  last  you 
in  hell  for  ten  minutes !  " 

"  You  mean  to  call  me  a  liar  ?  "  asked  Davis  blus- 
teringly. 

"  Yes,  I  do.     And  what's  more,  you  know  it's  so." 

"  If  you  wasn't  a  preacher,"  said  Davis  deprecat- 
ingly,  "  I'd  see  whether  you'd  call  me  a  liar ! " 


The  Pine  Knot  Ghost  i^ 

"  You  would,  would  you  ?  You  needn't  stop  for 
that.  If  I  was  to  treat  you  as  you  deserve  I'd  duck 
you  in  the  branch." 

"  Look  here,  parson,"  remonstrated  Best,  "  Noel 
won't  fight  you,  and  they  hain't  no  use  p'tic'lar  in 
worryin'  a  'possum  atter  he  curls  up  and  stops  fight- 
in'.     I  don't  beHeve  I'd  sass  him  much  more. 

James  Fletcher  felt  the  justice  of  this  word.  By 
his  display  of  temper  he  had  lost  in  large  measure  the 
sympathy  of  the  spectators.  He  bit  his  lip,  and,  turn- 
ing without  a  word,  mounted  his  horse  and  rode 
away. 

There  was  silence  for  a  little  while  after  he  de- 
parted, and  then  Best  restored  the  conversation  by 
remarking  with  a  laugh,  "  You  seem  to  be  ketchin'  it 
all  round  this  evenin',  Noel." 

Then  the  mail  came,  and  all  gathered  about  Dan 
Brafford  as  he  brought  in  the  lank,  double  pouch, 
and  threw  it  on  the  counter.  His  greeting  was  hearty 
and  went  around  the  group. 

"  Howdy,  Bill  ?  Forgot  to  order  that  sand  scoop 
for  your  sugar  sack.  Howdy,  Mis'  Best?  Still 
boardin'  with  Green,  be  ye?  Git  better  board  over 
to  the  other  house,  I  reckon.  Ain't  that  so,  Neze? 
Howdy,  Mis'  Braniman?  Still  single,  be  ye?  Law, 
I've  laid  of¥  to  come  over  and  set  up  with  you  my- 
self, but  I  hain't  had  time.  I  reckon  you'll  jest  have 
to  take  up  with  Noel  thar.  Hello,  Noel!  Say,  that 
last  sang  I  took  for  you  wasn't  dry  enough.  Got 
any  tobacker.  Bill?  I'm  mighty  nigh  dyin'  for  a 
smoke." 

There  was  a  hush  as  the  strap  was  pulled  through 
the  metal  loops  and  the  postmaster's  arm  was  thrust 


20  Pine  Knot 

in,  first  one  side  and  then  the  other,  and  all  gathered 
around.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  any  of  them 
expected  or  desired  to  receive  a  letter.  The  chief 
function  of  the  mail  carrier  was  social.  What  news 
he  brought  in  his  pouch  was  a  mere  fraction  of  what 
he  gathered  and  disseminated  along  the  way,  and  he 
performed  certain  commercial  services,  buying  sundry 
little  packages  in  exchange  for  ginseng  or  angelica 
(known  as  jellico)  root;  but  he  served  chiefly  to  get 
people  together  at  intervals  along  his  route.  As  the 
chief  business  of  county  court  day  at  Whitley  Court- 
house (the  profane  have  changed  the  name  to  Wil- 
liamsburg) was  done  outside  the  courtroom,  and  the 
interest  in  a  big  baptizing  (pronounced  baptizin')  on 
Marsh  Creek  was  largely  independent  of  the  precise 
religious  character  of  the  event  which  gave  name  to 
the  gathering,  so  the  coming  of  the  mail  was  of  inter- 
est principally  for  other  reasons  than  that  the  inhab- 
itants of  Pine  Knot  were  large  senders  or  receivers  of 
letters.  In  these  days  people  send  letters  on  the 
slightest  pretext  and  wholly  without  justifiable  excuse, 
but  in  that  day  and  at  Pine  Knot  letter  writing  was 
not  counted  a  thing  to  be  entered  upon  lightly  or  unad- 
visedly, but  soberly,  reverently,  and  discreetly. 

There  was  about  the  usual  assortment  of  mail :  a 
few  letters  for  Whitley  Courthouse  and  points  be- 
yond, a  meager  assortment  of  mail  for  intervening 
points,  and  a  letter  and  a  paper  for  Pine  Knot,  with 
a  good-sized  package  of  printed  matter. 

"  That's  a  main  big  one,  Dan,"  said  Bill. 

"  I  had  a  right  good  notion  to  put  me  a  rock  in 
the  end  with  the  other  mail  to  balance  it,"  said  Dan. 

"Who's  hit  for?"  asked  Mrs.  Braniman. 


The  Pine  Knot  Ghost  21 

"  J.  Howard  Buzbee."  Bill  read  the  name  labori- 
ously, and  turned  to  the  letter  and  the  paper. 

"  Who  in  creation  is  that  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Best. 

"  What  on  airth  does  a  man  want  to  part  his  name 
in  the  middle  that  away  for  ?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Brani- 
man. 

"  J.  Howard  Buzbee,"  read  Bill  from  the  paper. 

"  Who's  the  letter  for?  "  asked  Post. 

"  Mrs.  J.  Howard  Buzbee,"  read  Bill. 

"  Well,  I  never !  "  cried  Mrs.  Best.  "  Whoever 
heerd  tell  of  a  woman's  name  same  as  her  man's? 
Do  you  reckon  that's  her  sure-enough  name  ?  " 

"  Course  it  is,"  said  her  husband.  "  What  would 
they  call  her  that  for  if  it  wasn't  ?  " 

"  Maybe  hit's  for  her  man,"  said  Post. 

"  No,  hit's  '  Mrs.  J.  Howard  Buzbee,'  plain  as  kin 
be,"  said  Bill. 

"  Who  do  you  reckon  that  kin  be  ?  "  asked  one 
and  another. 

'*  Nobody  of  that  name  around  this  neck  of  woods," 
said  Bill. 

"  Well,  put  that  other  stufif  back  in  the  sack  and 
lock  it  up.  Do  you  reckon  the  Gov'maint  pays  me  to 
stand  around  here  while  you  alls  gawp  at  that  mail 
lack  you  was  young  ducks  gawpin'  at  a  toad  in  the 
feed  trought?  I  gotter  git  on  to  Marsh  Creek," 
said  Dan. 

"  They  hain't  so  anxious  to  see  you  there  as  we  be 
to  have  ye  go,"  said  Mrs.  Braniman.  Such  are  the 
pleasantries  of  Pine  Knot. 

"  That's  the  way  you  talk  jest  because  I  hain't  got 
time  to  come  over  and  set  up  with  you.  I  didn't  think 
you'd  talk  to  me  that  away.  Mis'  Braniman." 


22  Pine  Knot 

"  Go  'long  with  your  fool  talk,"  said  Mrs.  Brani- 
man. 

"  I  always  'lowed  you  keered  a  heap  for  me,"  an- 
swered Dan. 

"  Well,  I  don't,  so  you  know  it  now." 

"  Noel's  cut  me  out,  I  reckon,"  said  Dan,  holding 
the  mail  bag  to  protect  himself  from  her  riding  whip 
as  he  escaped  through  the  door. 

"  Well,  what  I  want  to  know  is,  who  is  this  here 
J.  Howard  Buzbee  ?  "  demanded  the  widow. 

No  one  answered.  Noel  Davis  knew,  but  he  was 
in  no  mood  to  g^ve  information. 


CHAPTER   II 
SMITH  Hemphill's  passengers 

"  Now  jist  let  me  tell  you  about  the  like  of  sich 
roads  as  these  here ! "  exclaimed  Smith  Hemphill,  as 
one  wheel  tilted  high  upon  the  summit  of  a  rock  and 
the  other  sought  the  nadir  in  a  fathomless  mudhole. 

The  bright-haired  girl  on  the  seat  beside  him 
caught  herself  midway  between  the  upward  lunge  and 
the  downward  pitch,  and,  after  a  moment's  waiting, 
looked  at  the  driver  with  an  expectant  "  Well  ?  " 

"  Well,  what  ?  "  demanded  Smith  Hemphill. 

"  You  proposed  to  tell  me  about  the  roads." 

"  That  was  my  way  of  sw'aring  at  'em  in  the  pres- 
ence of  ladies,"  he  said  grimly.  "  Hit  ain't  safe  for 
me  to  say  nothin'  more." 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  replied  the  young  woman. 

A  heavy  rain  had  washed  and  gullied  the  roads  and 
raised  the  streams  so  that  fording  was  disagreeable. 
The  creaking  wagon,  drawn  by  a  span  of  mules,  was 
making  its  way  painfully  along  Marsh  Creek  toward 
Pine  Knot. 

"  Are  we  almost  there  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Buzbee  in  a 
soft,  refined  voice  that  had  in  it  the  pleasant  accent 
of  the  blue  grass,  as  well  as  a  trace  of  semi-invalidism, 
and  just  a  faint  suggestion  of  suppressed  complaint. 
3  23 


24  Pine  Knot 

"  Almost  there,  my  dear,"  answered  her  husband. 
"  Barbara,  hold  on  carefully,  my  child.  The  road,  I 
grant,  is  very  unpleasant,  but  we  must  be  near.  It 
can  not  be  more  than  a  mile " 

"  Hit's  a  good  two  mile  and  a  half,"  drawled  the 
driver,  in  tones  that  perceptibly  lengthened  the  dis- 
tance. "  And  they  maisure  the  miles  with  a  coon  skin, 
and  throw  in  the  tail  ever'  time  for  good  maisure." 

"  They  certainly  are  long,"  said  Mrs.  Buzbee. 

"  They  air,  now  that's  a  fact,"  admitted  Smith. 
"  I've  pinely  noticed  that  myself.  And  they  ain't  no 
way  to  git  shet  of  'em  but  for  them  two  mules  to  laig 
'em  ofif,  one  step  at  a  time." 

"  They  seem  short  steps  and  many  to  the  mile," 
said  Mrs.  Buzbee. 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee.  "  I  wonder  just 
how  many  steps  are  required.  Let  me  compute  it. 
There  are  five  thousand  two  hundred  and  eighty " 

"  O  father !  Please  don't !  "  exclaimed  Barbara. 
"  Aren't  the  roads  bad  enough  without  arithmetic  ?  " 

"  I  will  desist  if  you  desire,  my  daughter,"  said  her 
father. 

"  Hold  on  more  carefully,  Barbara,"  said  her 
mother. 

"  I'm  all  right,  mother.  Can  I  do  anything  for 
you?" 

"  Nothing,  my  child." 

"  I  will  care  for  your  mother,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee, 
coming  back  at  that  instant  from  his  mathematical 
abstraction.  "  I  estimate  that  these  mules  step  not  far 
from  two  thousand  eight  hundred  and  forty-three  times 
to  the  mile." 

"With  one  laigpr  all  four?"  asked  Smith. 


Smith  Hemphill's  Passengers  25 

"  With  one  pair.  That  reminds  me,  I  forgot  to 
consider  that  they  have  four  legs,  I  will  begin 
again." 

"  Not  now,  John,"  said  Mrs.  Buzbee,  wearily. 

"  Very  well,  my  love,"  said  he.  "  We  will  talk  of 
other  things.  Two  and  one  half  miles,  my  dear.  So 
near  is  the  fruition  of  our  hopes." 

"  I  trust  so,  John,"  said  she,  "  for  it  is  hope  long 
deferred  even  if  it  comes  now." 

"  And  your  heart  has  done  well  not  to  be  sick,  my 
love,"  said  he.  "  But  better  things  are  coming.  My 
dear,  we  are  living  in  a  formative  time.  The  foun- 
tains of  the  great  deep  of  human  opinion  are  about  to 
be  broken  up.  There  will  be  new  social  and  political 
conditions.  The  old  Democratic  party  is  divided. 
The  Republicans  have  put  in  nomination  a  man  un- 
known, but  certain  to  become  known.  We  are  on  the 
verge " 

"  Hold  on  goin'  down  this  here  little  pitch,"  said 
the  driver,  interrupting  Mr.  Buzbee,  who  was  speaking 
as  if  addressing  a  meeting. 

"  But  what  I  do  not  see,  father,"  said  Barbara,  "  is 
how  we  are  to  accomplish  anything  at  such  a  time 
back  in  these  hills.  Even  the  sunshine  gets  lost  in 
these  valleys " 

"  Ya-as,"  said  the  driver.  "  They's  a  holler  over 
in  back  here  whar  they  hatter  dip  their  sunshine  up 
with  a  bucket  and  a  sweep  and  pour  it  down." 

"  Where  do  they  dip  it  from  ? "  asked  Barbara, 
entering  into  the  spirit  of  the  mountain  pleasantry. 

"  South  side  the  same  ridge.  Clk-clk !  Clk-clk !  " 
The  first  two  clucks  were  uttered  in  appreciation  of  his 
own  joke ;  the  last  two,  louder  and  in  a  different  key, 


26  Pine  Knot 

were  to  the  mules,  who  responded  to  the  jerk  of  the 
one  rope  Hne. 

Mr.  Buzbee  paid  no  attention  to  the  byplay  of 
humor.  He  was  thoughtfully  preparing  his  answer 
to  Barbara's  question. 

"  These  mountains,"  said  he,  "  afford  me  the  very 
situation  I  want  as  a  place  to  stand  while  I  adjust  my 
Archimedean  lever." 

"  Any  place  where  we  can  stand  or  rest,  with  a 
roof  above  us,  will  be  acceptable,  John,"  said  Mrs. 
Buzbee. 

There  was  a  just  perceptible  shade  of  reproach  in 
her  voice. 

"  It  isn't  just  like  Lexington,  mother,"  said  Bar- 
bara ;  "  but  it  is  a  healthful  region,  I  have  no  doubt, 
and  will  be  good  for  us  all." 

"  The  worst  thing  about  this  country  is  the  titles 
to  the  land,"  said  Smith. 

"  How  so?  "  asked  Barbara. 

"  The  rain  washes  the  land  off  'm  the  hills.  The 
title  won't  hold  it." 

Barbara  laughed,  but  the  joke  was  lost  on  Mr. 
Buzbee. 

"  These  mountains,"  resumed  Mr.  Buzbee,  "  are 
the  home  of  freedom.  Here  was  created  the  State  of 
Franklin,  and  before  it  was  the  Watauga  Association, 
the  first  free  commonwealth  formed  by  American- 
born  citizens." 

"  Are  there  no  slaves  here  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Buzbee 
of  the  driver. 

"  Wall,  they's  a  sprinklin'.  The  houses  in  the  hol- 
lers don't  have  none,  but  the  houses  on  the  hills  has 
one  or  two,  mebby." 


Smith  Hemphill's  Passengers  27 

"  How  do  you  make  the  distinction  ?  " 

"  Wall,  most  of  the  folks  in  these  knobs  is  too  pore 
to  own  a  nigger  or  to  dig  a  well." 

"  But  the  hills  and  the  hollows ?  " 

"  The  springs  is  in  the  hollers,  mostly." 

"  Oh,  I  see !  They  build  their  houses  with  refer- 
ence to  convenience  in  getting  water." 

"  Sartin,"  said  the  driver,  in  a  tone  that  implied 
great  self-restraint  in  not  intimating  that  so  elementary 
a  truth  ought  to  have  been  perceived  with  less  ex- 
planation. 

"  Precisely  so,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee,  making  a  mental 
note  for  a  future  research  concerning  the  relation  of 
altitude  to  slavery.  "  And  you  notice  that  there  are 
very  few  houses  upon  the  hills." 

"  This  mud  is  very  deep  and  sticky,"  said  Barbara, 
attempting  to  turn  the  conversation. 

"  Hit's  so  sticky  hit'll  pull  a  shoe  right  off  a  horse's 
hoof,"  said  Smith. 

"  Is  there  no  other  road?  "  asked  Mrs.  Buzbee. 

"  Yas'm.  But  I  most  ginerally  always  aim  to  go 
this  way,  for  hit's  a  heap  the  best.  I  aim  to  go  back 
the  other." 

"  Why  do  you  do  that  ?  "  asked  Barbara. 

"  Hit  saves  me  from  studyin'  while  I  go  along 
about  how  I've  got  to  go  back  through  the  same  mud- 
holes.  I'd  a  heap  druther  take  the  ones  that  I  don't 
know  jest  how  bad  they  be.  For  they  ain't  no  mud- 
hole  so  bad  as  to  know  hit's  ahead  and  have  to 
study  about  it." 

Barbara  laughed, 

"  That  does  not  accord  with  the  philosophers,"  said 
Mr.  Buzbee.     "They  affirm  that  it  is  the  unknown 


28  Pine  Knot 

that  has  the  greater  terror.  Shakespeare  represents 
Hamlet  as  preferring  to  suffer  with  the  ills  we  see " 

"  Wall,  I  go  straight  ahead  if  I  don't  see  no  hats  in 
the  road." 

"  Hats  ?  " 

"  Yais.  Whar  some  feller  has  done  gone  down, 
mules  and  wagon  and  all,  and  left  his  hat  top  side  of 
the  mud." 

Again  Barbara  laughed,  a  merry,  ringing  laugh. 

"  I  see  nothing  to  laugh  at,  Barbara,"  remonstrated 
her  father.  "  I  am  sure  if  such  a  thing  should  happen 
it  would  be  anything  but  a  laughing  matter." 

"  Howdy,  Mr.  Strunk  ?  "  called  out  the  driver  as 
they  passed  a  cabin.  "  Dog  my  cats  if  I  know  which 
Strunk  that  is !  "  he  added  in  an  aside.  "  But  hit's  a 
Kaintuck  Strunk." 

"  Howdy  ?  "  was  the  reply.  "  Whar  you  alls  go- 
ing?" 

"  I  cyan't  tell  ye  till  I  come  back,"  replied  Smith. 
"  Clk-clk !  " 

"  His  name  is  Strunk  ?  "  asked  Barbara. 

"  Most  ever'  person's  is  in  this  neck  of  woods. 
They  was  two  brothers,  Abram  and  Daniel,  and  they 
come  in  here  nigh  on  to  a  hundred  years  ago,  I  reckon, 
and  both  of  'em  married  twict,  and  one  had  twenty-four 
children  and  the  t'other  twenty-eight.  And  all  of  'em 
bred  mightily  in  this  wilderness  country;  and  now 
when  you  don't  know  a  feller  you  call  him  Strunk. 
They're  on  both  sides  of  the  line,  and  the  Kaintuck 
Strunks  is  a  heap  different  from  the  Tennessy 
Strunks." 

"  In  what  way?  " 

"  Wall,  the  people  are  right  smart  divided  about 


Smith  Hemphill's  Passengers  29 

that,"  said  Smith  dehberately,  cutting  off  a  chew  of 
pigtail  twist.  "  The  Tennessy  Strunks  says  the  Kain- 
tuck  Strunks  is  the  oneriest,  and  the  Kaintuck  Strunks 
says  the  Tennessy  Strunks  is  a  heap  the  oneriest.  But 
they  both  favor  each  other  right  smart,  after  all." 

"  How  far  are  we  now?  "  asked  Barbara. 

"  Here's  the  forks,"  said  the  driver.  "  Hit's  a 
mile  to  Pine  Knot." 

"  Which  way  do  we  go  ?  "  asked  Barbara. 

"  Keep  the  main  road." 

"  One  looks  to  me  about  like  the  other,"  said  Bar- 
bara, with  a  woman's  insistence  on  a  more  tangible 
discrimination. 

"  Jes'  keep  the  main,  big  road  all  the  way.  That's 
all  they  is  of  it,"  said  the  driver. 

"  But  there's  always  a  right  and  a  left,"  insisted 
Barbara. 

"  Yes,  they  is.  But  jest  s'posin'  some  person  had 
a-told  you  the  way  from  Whitley  Courthouse  here. 
Jest  s'posin'  that  driver  from  Lexington  had  a-come 
plumb  through  with  you  alls  and  you  alls'  plunder. 
Jes  s'posin'  I  had  a-told  you  fust  left,  then  right,  then 
down  the  branch,  then  foller  the  ridge,  then  down 
the  holler  to  the  ford,  then  over  the  mounting  to 
the  head  waters  of  'Tater  Branch,  then  down  'Tater 
Branch  to  whar  hit  empties  inter  Marsh  Creek, 
then " 

"  Oh,  we  should  have  been  lost,  like  the  babes  in 
the  wood,  I  know.  But  twenty  times  you  have  told 
me  that  you  were  keeping  the  main  road  when  one 
road  looked  just  like  the  other ! " 

"  Mebby  hit  did  to  you.  But  hit  wasn't  jest  like 
it,  don't  ye  see  ?  " 


3o  Pine  Knot 

"  No,  I  confess  I  don't." 

"  Wall,  t'other  un  wouldn't  have  fetched  ye  to  Pine 
Knot.     Now  do  you  see  the  difference  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  see  that  difference,  of  course " 

"  Well,  then !  "  said  the  driver,  and  Barbara  knew 
that  that  argument  was  ended. 

Smith  Hemphill  was  a  civil  driver,  and  was  willing 
to  answer  any  reasonable  question,  and  quite  liked  to 
have  a  passenger  sufficiently  stupid  to  justify  him  in 
elongating  his  explanations,  but  there  were  limits  to 
his  willingness  to  recur  to  a  given  topic.  Barbara  had 
kept  up  a  conversation  with  him  a  good  part  of  the 
way,  and  had  found  no  little  pleasure  in  calling  out 
his  argumentative  powers. 

Mr.  Buzbee,  finding  the  conversation  lagging,  re- 
verted to  his  former  theme,  nothing  disconcerted  by 
the  interruption. 

"  These  mountains  are  the  natural  home  of  free- 
dom." 

"  Ya-as,"  admitted  Smith,  "  a  feller  is  free  to  do 
about  as  he  pleases  if  he  don't  keep  no  sheep-killin' 
dogs." 

"  That  is  just  it,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee  eagerly.  "  That 
is  the  very  illustration  I  was  seeking.  Now,  a  man 
has  a  natural  right  to  keep  sheep.  That  is  funda- 
mental.    Sheep  are " 

"  Sheep  are  mighty  unsartin  critters,"  interrupted 
Smith.  "  What  with  dogs,  and  wolves,  and  foxes,  and 
hoof  rot,  and  the  whole  daggon  flock  dyin'  oflf  if  one 
of  'em  ketches  anything  ketchin',  I've  made  up  my 
mind  to  stick  to  hogs." 

"  That  may  be,  that  may  be,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee. 
*'  But,  as  I  was  saying,  a  man  has  a  right  to  keep  sheep. 


Smith  Hemphill's    Passengers  31 

Now  the  same  can  not  be  affirmed  without  quaUfica- 
tion  of  his  right  to  keep  dogs.     Slavery  is " 

"  Dogs,"  observed  Mr.  Hemphill,  "  is,  next  to 
women,  the  most  valuable  and  the  most  wuthless  prop- 
erty ary  man  ever  owned." 

"  Oh,  shame,  Mr.  Hemphill !  "  cried  Barbara  in 
mock  surprise.  "  I  thought  you  were  too  gallant  to 
say  such  a  thing  of  women !  " 

"  I  said  they  was  the  most  valuable,  didn't  I  ?  " 

"  So  you  did.  I  see.  And  dogs  the  least.  Oh, 
thank  you." 

"  Wall,  I  didn't  put  it  jest  that  away,"  said  Smith ; 
"  but  I  kin  say  this,  the  man  that  gits  you " 

"  Oh,  don't.     I  thought  you  were  above  flattery." 

"  How  did  ye  know  I  was  goin'  to  flatter  ye  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course,  you  were  not  going  to  say  any- 
thing bad ! " 

"  Wall,  if  you're  sure  of  that,  you  may  as  well  not 
know  what  I  had  in  mind  to  say." 

"  You  make  me  curious." 

"  No,  I  never.  The  Lord  made  all  women  that 
away." 

"  You  do  not  know  all  women." 

"  Wall,  I've  read  the  Bible,  and  I  know  about  Eve, 
and  I've  got  a  wife  o'  my  own." 

"  Poor  Eve !  She  has  pointed  every  slander  that 
men  have  ever  devised  against  her  daughters." 

"  Oh,  you  think  hit's  slander  now,  do  ye?  " 

"  Flattery  and  slander  are  much  alike.  What  were 
you  going  to  say  ?  " 

"  I  was  goin'  to  say — "  said  Mr.  Hemphill  medita- 
tively. "Whoa,  thar!"  he  continued,  and  jumped 
from  his  seat.     "  That's  the  first  pennyroyal  I've  seed 


32  Pine  Knot 

this  side  of  the  mountain."  He  gathered  a  bunch, 
and,  first  rubbing  his  horses'  ears  with  it,  drew  it  under 
their  bridles,  making  a  plume  on  each  mule. 

"  Yea,  thar !  "  he  said,  climbing  to  his  seat  and 
jerking  the  rope  line.  The  mules  started  ahead. 
"  Them  horseflies  is  the  worst  things  that  come  out 
of  the  ark.  Daggon  me  if  I  wouldn't  'a'  liked  to  been 
one  of  Noah's  deck  hands  for  one  day !  I'd  'a'  thinned 
out  his  live  stock  consid'able !  " 

"  They  don't  like  pennyroyal  ?  "  asked  Barbara. 

"  They  like  it,"  observed  Mr.  Hemphill,  "  about 
lack  a  short-haired  bainch-legged  feist  dog  lacks  hot 
soap  grease." 

"  How  far  are  we  now?  "  asked  Mrs.  Buzbee. 

"  You  can  see  Pine  Knot,"  said  Smith,  "  from  the 
top  of  yan  hill.     Hit  ain't  more'n  a  half." 

"  Half  of  what  ?  "  asked  Barbara. 

"  Half  a  mile,  of  course,"  said  Mr.  Hemphill. 
"  What  did  you  reckon  it'd  be  half  of?  " 

"  Barbara,"  remonstrated  her  mother,  "  I'm  afraid 
you're  bothering  Mr.  Hemphill." 

"  Oh,  no'm ;  not  at  all,"  said  Smith.  "  I've  got  a 
heap  of  charity  for  folks  that  hain't  had  my  advan- 
tages." 

Barbara  laughed  again. 

"  You  know  more'n  I  do  about  some  things,"  ad- 
mitted Mr.  Hemphill,  "  but  when  it  comes  to  knowing 
which  fork  o'  the  road  to  take  or  how  to  keep  oflf  horse- 
flies, mebby  I  know  more  about  that  'n  you  do." 

"  I  should  think,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee,  "  that  horse- 
flies might  afford  opportunity  for  an  interesting  study. 
To  what  order  do  they  belong  ?  " 

"  I  never  heerd  tell  that  they  belonged  to  no  p'tic'- 


Smith  Hemphill's  Passengers  33 

lar  order,"  replied  Hemphill  deliberately ;  "  but  I 
reckon  they're  predestinarians  of  some  sort.  They 
believe  in  perseverance  of  the  saints." 

Barbara  laughed  again.  It  would  be  hard  to  tell 
where  she  got  that  ringing  laugh.  Her  mother  never 
laughed,  but  sometimes  smiled  a  wan  smile.  Her 
father  was  absolutely  devoid  of  any  sense  of  humor, 
and  took  the  world  not  only  seriously,  but  strenuously 
as  well. 

"  I  did  not  quite  mean  that,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee,  not 
at  all  annoyed.  He  had  learned  to  be  patient  with  a 
world  that  was  slow  in  understanding  his  purposes  and 
explanations.     "  How  many  varieties  are  there  ?  " 

"Which?  Of  predestinarians?  Thar's  the  Pres- 
byterians, and  they're  skase  around  here,  and  the  Two- 
Seed  Babtists,  and  the  horseflies." 

"No,  no!     Of  the  flies?" 

"  Oh,  yes.  Wall,  they's  one  kind  that  pesters  a 
horse  about  the  ears  jest  whar  you  cyan't  retch  'em 
with  a  whip,  and  another  that  jumps  up  and  hits  'em 
under  the  chin  and  gives  'em  the  botts,  and  another 
that  overcomes  'em  by  main  stren'th.  And  thar's  Pine 
Knot.  Hold  on  acrost  this  holler,  and  we'll  be  thar 
in  a  minute." 

"  I  want  to  stop  at  the  post  office,"  said  Mr.  Buz- 
bee.    "  I  must  have  some  mail  waiting." 

"  Let  us  get  to  our  home  as  soon  as  possible,"  said 
Mrs.  Buzbee. 

"  Yes,  my  dear." 

Busy  as  they  were,  he  was  inclined  to  stop  and  tell 
the  idlers  at  the  store,  in  response  to  questions  about 
the  political  news  that  was  just  beginning  to  percolate 
through  the  many  strata  that  separated  Pine  Knot 


34  Pine  Knot 

from  the  outer  world,  about  the  nomination  of  Lincoln, 
and  what  it  meant  to  the  country  and  the  world ;  but 
a  sight  of  the  patient,  weary  face  of  his  wife  and  a 
much  less  patient  reminder  from  Smith  that  he 
"  wanted  to  unload  this  here  plunder  and  start  back  " 
brought  him  to  inquire  the  way  to  "  Mr.  Goodwin's 
house — the  one  formerly  occupied  by  the  late  Mr. 
Morgan." 

"  Deck  Morgan's  old  house  ?  "  asked  Bill  Blake. 
"  He  ain't  a-goin'  to  put  no  human  thar,  is  he  ?  " 

The  point  of  the  question  was  lost  on  Mr.  Buzbee, 
but  not  on  Barbara,  who  kept  it  in  her  heart  and  pon- 
dered it.  Thither  the  wagon  made  its  way  amid  the 
gossip  of  the  community. 

When  Smith  Hemphill  had  unloaded  his  passen- 
gers and  their  "  plunder,"  consisting  of  three  trunks,  a 
box  of  books,  two  beds,  a  pinched  little  dresser,  a  few 
chairs,  and  a  meager  equipment  of  cooking  utensils, 
and  had  collected  his  pay  and  gone  back,  Mrs.  Buz- 
bee looked  over  the  rickety  old  cabin  with  its  curling 
roof  board,  its  unchinked  cracks,  its  dilapidated  stick 
chimney,  and  its  loose,  treacherous  floor  puncheons, 
and,  sitting  down  upon  the  doorstep,  dissolved  her 
long-tried,  half-complaining  patience  in  a  flood  of 
tears,  and  even  Barbara's  lip  quivered  till  she  saw 
her  mother's  need  of  courage.  Then  she  laughed,  but 
it  was  not  a  happy  laugh. 


CHAPTER   III 

UNCLE   SIMON   PETER 

"  Eb'nin',  missie." 

Barbara  looked  up,  and  saw  an  old  negro  framed 
in  the  doorway,  holding  in  his  left  hand  a  young  opos- 
sum, whose  tail  curled  around  his  finger. 

"  Good  evening,  uncle,"  said  Barbara.  "  What 
have  you  there  ?  " 

"  I  got  de  one  t'ing  de  Lawd  nebbah  made." 

"How  is  that?" 

"  De  Lawd  nebbah  made  de  possum." 

"  Why,  I  thought  the  Lord  made  all  things." 

"  Mos'  all  t'ings.    But  not  de  possum." 

"  Who  did  make  him,  then  ?  " 

"  De  debbil  done  made  him." 

"  Then  most  colored  people  have  not  renounced 
the  devil  and  all  his  works,  have  they?  " 

"  De  debbil  ?  Yas'm.  But  all  he  works  ?  Wall, 
some  of  he  works." 

"  Then,  I  suppose  you  don't  like  possum  ?  " 

"  Mus'  be,  missie,  you  sholy  got  weak  eyes." 

"Weak  eyes?" 

"  Yas'm.  You  surely  don'  notice  the  colah  ub  my 
complexion  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  should  never  suspect  that  you  were 
white." 

35 


36  Pine  Knot 

"  No'm ;  I  ain't.  Dat's  a  fack,  I  ain't.  When  I 
gits  tar  on  me  hit  meek  a  light  mahk — he-he !  Hit  do, 
dat's  a  fack." 

"  Well,  I  supposed  that  all  colored  people  liked 
possum ;  but  if  the  devil  made  him,  of  course  they 
don't." 

"  Ya-as'm.  I  reckon  dat  why  de  debbil  alles  has  it 
so  easy  wid  de  niggahs." 

"  But  how  did  the  devil  happen  to  make  him  ?  " 

"  Dat's  it.  How  did  de  debbil  come  to  make  so 
good  a  t'ing?  " 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know.     Do  you  ?  " 

"  Yas'm.  Same  reason  de  'possum  don't  got  no 
har  on  he  tail." 

"  Tell  me  about  it,  uncle ;  but  here,  help  me  set  up 
this  bed." 

"  No'm.  I  ain'  goin'  do  nuflfin'  de  sort.  You 
ain'  fitten  to  set  up  no  beds.  You  des  se'  down  in  dat 
ah  cheer,  an'  I'll  set  up  de  bed.     Hoi'  on  a  minute." 

He  moved  two  chairs  back  to  back,  hung  a  broom 
across  them,  and  transferred  the  prehensile  tail  of  the 
possum  to  the  broom  handle  while  he  set  up  the  bed- 
stead. 

"Whahyo' pappy?" 

"  He  has  gone  to  dig  out  the  spring,  and  mother 
has  gone  with  him  to  bathe  her  head.  She  has  a  head- 
ache." 

"  She  g^ine  ober  to  my  mawsYs,  dah  whah  she 
gwine." 

"  You  came  to  invite  her?  " 

"  Yas'm.  An'  you  alls.  Dye  ain't  no  use  settin' 
up  no  bed.  You  ain'  gwine  sleep  here  dis  night.  I 
gwine  come  ober  in  de  mawnin',  an'  Dinah  comin'  too. 


Uncle  Simon  Peter  '37 

an'  we  gwine  clean  up  de  house  an'  set  up  de  beds. 
You  ain'  gwine  dirty  dem  lill  white  han's  ob  youn  set- 
tin'  up  no  bed.  Mis'  Renfro  she  gwine  lick  me,  if  I 
let  you  set  up  bed.  I  jes'  move  dis  plunder  in  de 
house,  an'  we  gwine  git  away  'fo'  sundown." 

"  My  father  and  mother  will  be  back  soon.  Tell 
me  about  the  possum." 

"  Wall,  ef  dat  ain't  de  quares'  story,  sho'  'nufT ! 
Wall,  you  see,  de  Lawd,  he  made  de  sun,  and  de  moon, 
and  de  animiles,  and  de  coon.  De  las'  t'ing  he  made 
'fo'  sundown  on  de  animile  day  dat  was  de  coon.  Wall, 
ebery  night  de  debbil  he  come  out  he  hole,  and  he 
look  around  in  de  moonlight  to  see  what  de  good 
Lawd  done  made.  Wall,  de  debbil  he  p'tic'lar  inter- 
ested in  de  coon.  He  see  him  wid  de  fine  tail  wid  de 
rings  around  hit,  and  de  sharp  eyes,  and  de  fur  and  all, 
and  he  say  he  gwine  make  one  des'  presackly  like  hit. 
He-he ! " 

"Well?" 

"  Well,  de  coon  he  made  so  late,  you  see,  he  ain't 
mo'n  hardly  dry,  and  de  place  whah  de  Lawd  got  de 
mud  to  make  him  out'en,  dat  was  in  plain  sight,  and 
de  water  gourd  and  de  stirrin'  stick  still  dar.  So  de 
debbil  he  sot  to  wuck  to  make  a  coon." 

"  And  he  made  the  possum  instead  ?  " 

"  Yas'm.  Dat's  jes'  presackly  what  he  went  and 
did.  He  made  de  possum.  He  was  jus'  lack  he  be 
now,  all  but  de  tail." 

"  What  kind  of  tail  had  he?  " 

"  I  don'  know,  missie,  I  don'  know.  Dey  don' 
nobody  know.  Dey's  a  mystery  'bout  dat  ah  tail  from 
dat  day  to  dis." 

"  How  do  you  know  it  was  different  ?  " 


38  Pine  Knot 

"  Ca'se  hit  had  to  be  diffunt.  Hit  was  'bleedged  to 
be  diflfunt.  Dat's  de  reason.  Yas'm.  Yas,  missie. 
Hit  had  to  be  diffunt.  Hit  had  ha'r  on  it,  sorter  lack  de 
debbil  he  try  to  make  a  tail  lack  de  coon  tail.  But  it's 
unpossible  to  make  a  tail  lack  de  coon  tail.  Dat  coon 
tail  am  de  fines'  tail  de  Lawd  put  on  to  any  critter.  De 
Lawd  made  dat  when  he  got  de  tail-makin'  trade 
lunned,  and  had  dat  tail  hung  up  on  a  tree  in  de  garden 
waitin'  fo'  some  critter  good  enough  to  put  it  on." 

"  And  the  coon  was  good  enough  ?  " 

"  No'm,  he  ain't.  But  he  was  de  las'  critter,  and 
de  Lawd  had  de  tail  hangin'  up,  and  he  put  dat  tail  on 
de  las'  critter.     Yas'm." 

"  It  is  certainly  very  different  from  the  possum's." 

"  Yas'm.  Hit  am,  fo'  a  fack,  but  it's  diffunter  dan 
hit  was  when  de  possum  was  fust  made." 

"  Here  comes  father. — Father,  here  is  a  message 
for  you.     Uncle " 

"  Unc'  Simon  Peter,"  said  the  slave. 

"  He  has  come  from  one  of  our  neighbors, 
Mr. " 

"  Maws'r  Renfro ;  he  send  he  compliments  to 
Maws'r  an'  Mis'  Buzbee  an'  de  young  missie,  an'  you 
alls  gwine  come  home  wid  me,  and  stay  dar  till  we  git 
de  house  sorter  fix  up.  He  ain'  gwine  hab  you  stay 
heah  till  we  got  dis  house  clean  up." 

"  Thank  your  master  for  m.e,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee, 
"  and  say  that  if  Mrs.  Buzbee  can  stay  there  to- 
night  " 

"  He  done  tole  me  you  alls  comin',  and  for  me  to 
set  in  de  t'ings  an'  carry  you  right  ober." 

"  We  will  go,"  said  Barbara.  "  It  is  a  hospitality 
which  we  are  needing  sorely  just  now. — Yes,  mother. 


Uncle  Simon  Peter  39 

we  will  go. — Come,  Uncle  Simon  Peter,  we  will  go 
with  you.  Set  in  the  things  as  quickly  as  you  like. 
— Mother,  sit  down  till  I  see  to  this  matter." 

Mrs.  Buzbee  dropped  into  a  chair  and  rose  with  a 
little  nervous  scream. 

"Oh!    What  is  it?    Take  it  out!" 

"  De  law  sake  I "  cried  Simon  Peter.  "  Ef  dat 
ain't  keerless — me  leabin'  dat  possum  dah  for  missis 
to  knock  off !  " 

The  opossum  was  waddling  across  the  room  with 
tail  up.  Simon  Peter  caught  it,  cuffed  it  first  one  side 
and  then  the  other,  not  enough  to  hurt  it,  but  enough 
to  make  it  think  that  it  was  being  injured,  and  tossed 
it  into  a  corner,  where  it  lay  down  limp  and  apparently 
dead. 

"  He  gwine  stay  dah  now,"  he  said,  and  hurried  to 
get  in  the  furniture  that  was  still  outside  before  the 
possum  should  think  it  time  to  get  up. 

The  task  was  a  short  one.  Mr.  Buzbee  took  hold 
with  him  and  lifted  at  the  trunks  spite  of  Simon  Peter's 
protest,  and  with  an  evident  drop  in  Simon  Peter's 
good  opinion,  who  did  not  esteem  a  white  man  the 
more  highly  for  being  ready  to  work.  Then  he  took 
the  unresisting  creature  by  the  tail  and  announced  that 
he  was  ready  to  go  home. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  that  creature  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Buzbee. 

"  Gwine  keep  him  till  de  papaws  gits  ripe,  and 
cook  him." 

"  It  is  a  hideous-looking  object,"  said  Mrs.  Buz- 
bee. 

"Yas'm.     Dat  so." 

"  Uncle  Simon  Peter  was  just  telling  me  when  you 
4 


40  Pine  Knot 

came  in  that  it  was  the  devil  that  made  the  possum," 
said  Barbara.     "  Tell  me  the  rest,  uncle." 

Simon  Peter  crossed  to  the  other  side  of  the  road 
that  the  shadow  of  the  great  white  tree  where  the 
ghost  was  wont  to  stand  should  not  fall  upon  him,  and 
was  somewhat  silent  for  a  few  minutes.  Then  he  be- 
gan his  story  again. 

"  Yas'm.     When  de  debbil  got  de  coon  made " 

"  I  thought  you  said  it  was  the  possum." 
"  So  it  war.  But  it  war  a  coon  to  de  debbil.  Dat 
what  he  staht  to  make,  an'  dat  what  he  t'ink  he  done 
made.  De  debbil  he  don'  know  he  made  de  possum. 
He  'low  he  done  made  a  no-'count  coon.  Wall,  when 
he  got  de  critter  made,  he  look  at  him,  and  den  at 
de  coon,  what  sot  on  a  limb  ob  de  tree  of  knowledge. 
An'  when  de  debbil  see  de  Lawd's  coon  and  de  coon 
he  make — he-he !  He  take  de  critter  by  de  tail  and  go 
to  kill  him.  He  des'  swing  de  coon  he  make  'round 
he  haid,  and  go  to  knock  he  brains  out  'gainst  de  gate 
postis  of  de  garden.  Well,  de  critter  was  new,  and 
de  skin  on  he  tail  was  lack  de  bark  on  a  willow  limb  in 
de  spring,  and  when  de  debbil  he  swing  de  critter  dat- 
away,  de  skin  come  off  de  tail,  an'  de  debbil  kep'  it 
right  in  he  hand.  De  debbil  got  dat  skin  from  de  pos- 
sum's tail  yet.  De  possum  don't  got  it,  no  sah. 
Wall,  de  possum  he  fly  right  t'rough  de  air  when  de 
debbil  throw  him  dataway,  right  t'rough  de  gate  ob  de 
garden  and  catch  hold  ub  a  limb  wid  he  tail  and  hang 
dah,  and  he  turn  and  grin  at  de  debbil.  Yas,  sah! 
He-he!  And  dat's  why  de  possum  is  de  one  critter 
dat  ain't  under  de  curse  ob  Adam." 

It  had  not  taken  half  an  hour  for  all  the  inhabitants 
of  Pine  Knot  to  learn  that  the  man  for  whom  the  mail 


Uncle  Simon  Peter  41 

was  waiting  at  the  post  office  had  arrived.  No  one 
had  any  doubt  who  J.  Howard  Buzbee  was,  or  by 
what  means  he  had  been  appointed  teacher.  Nor  did 
any  one  fail  to  learn  that  he  had  arrived  with  a  wife 
and  daughter,  and  had  no  other  home  than  the  tumble- 
down, haunted  house  that  had  been  Deck  Morgan's, 
and,  be  this  remembered  among  its  virtues,  there  was 
not  a  house  in  Pine  Knot  that  would  not  have  swung 
its  doors  wide  open  that  night  to  take  in  the  strangers. 
That  there  were  not  a  dozen  invitations  instead  of  one 
was  because  the  whole  community  learned — and  all 
these  things  were  made  known  in  that  supernatural 
way  in  which  news  spreads  in  such  a  community — 
that  for  that  night,  and  as  much  longer  as  there  was 
need,  the  family  was  cared  for  at  Mr.  Renfro's.  Mr. 
Renfro's  was  the  best  house  in  Pine  Knot,  and  his 
two  slaves  were  a  large  fraction  of  the  total  black  popu- 
lation of  the  settlement. 

"  Come  in !  come  in !  Don't  stop  to  knock  or 
holler,"  called  Mr.  Renfro,  coming  to  the  door.  He 
was  a  tall,  spare  man,  past  fifty,  and  with  a  sprinkling 
of  gray  in  his  hair  and  his  mustache  and  heavy,  long 
goatee.  "  I  just  got  home  from  court,  and  heerd 
you'd  come.  We  cyan't  let  you  set  up  housekeeping 
for  yourselves  till  we  git  things  fixed  up  a  spell. 
Come  in.  This  is  Mr.  Buzbee,  I  reckon  ?  My  name's 
Renfro,  Mr.  Buzbee.  And  this  is  Mrs.  Buzbee,  I 
reckon?  Proud  to  meet  you,  madam.  And  Miss 
Buzbee?  Come  right  in;  you're  right  welcome. 
— Pete,  call  your  mistress." 

Mrs.  Renfro  came  bustling  in  from  the  room  across 
the  wide  hall.  "  Good  evening,"  she  said.  "  It's  just 
a  plumb  shame  that  you've  come  here  with  no  place 


42  Pine  Knot 

to  go  but  that  old  tumble-down  house ;  I  didn't  know 
a  thing  about  it.  Come  right  in  this  way.  We've  got 
lots  of  room,  and  I  never  feel  like  I'm  at  home  unless 
I  have  a  houseful.  No,  no !  It  ain't  just  for  to-night. 
You  ain't  a-going  to  step  out  of  this  house  to  no  other 
home  till  we  see  things  fixed  up  a  little." 

"  That's  the  way  she  talks,"  said  Renfro  gleefully ; 
"  and  she  most  ginerally  always  has  her  way.  I've 
learned  not  to  oppose  her." 

"  Jest  hear  him  talk !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Renfro  to 
Mrs.  Buzbee.  "  He  don't  seem  to  remember  that  he's 
talking  to  folks  that  don't  know  how  he  stories !  " 

"  I  think  we  understand  him,"  said  Barbara,  "  and 
I  am  sure  we  are  grateful.  My  dear  mother  is  very 
tired." 

"  And  no  wonder !  Riding  over  that  awful  road ! 
■ — Here,  Dinah,  fetch  in  some  hot  water. — Or  mebby 
you'd  like  cold  water? — Simon  Peter,  you  run  to  the 
spring. — Now  this  room  is  for  you.  It's  got  two 
good  beds,  and —  Would  you  like  a  fire  ?  Well,  it  is 
warm,  that's  a  fact.  It  gets  cool  toward  night.  Now, 
if  I  was  you,  I'd  just  undress  and  wash  my  feet  in  hot 
water  and  lay  right  down.  Dinah'll  have  supper  after 
a  while.  And  if  you  say  one  word  about  leaving  here 
this  week  I  sha'n't  like  it  one  bit ! " 

So  the  Buzbees  were  installed  in  the  large,  square 
room,  with  its  two  beds,  springy  with  fresh,  fragrant 
straw,  billowy  with  feathers,  and  spotless  in  sheets  of 
Dinah's  best  laundering  and  white  homespun  counter- 
panes. A  new  rag  carpet  adorned  the  floor  in  a  gor- 
geous pattern  of  stripe  alternating  with  hit-or-miss, 
and  the  odd  old  dresser  and  the  few  chairs  left  the 
room  still  so  wide,  and  open,  and  restful  that  the 


Uncle  Simon  Peter  43 

hearts  of  the  mother  and  daughter  found  instant  com- 
fort there.  The  hospitahty  was  so  genuine,  the  hearts 
of  the  host  and  hostess  were  so  warm,  and  their  sin- 
cerity was  so  manifest  that  from  the  first  hour  the 
Buzbees  counted  the  Renfros  their  friends  indeed. 


CHAPTER   IV 

THE   SCHOOL   BOARD    CHAIRMAN 

Mrs,  Goodwin  stopped  to  sit  down  for  a  few 
minutes  while  the  pones  were  baking,  and,  from  force 
of  habit  rather  than  from  urgent  demand  on  the  part 
of  the  youngster,  caught  up  the  ten  months'  baby  from 
the  floor  and  offered  him  his  supper.  He  was  a  big, 
strong  baby,  able  to  walk  by  pushing  a  chair  over  the 
rough  floor,  except  when  one  leg  got  into  a  crack  be- 
tween the  puncheons,  when  he  would  howl  viciously. 
He  was  usually  vociferous  for  his  rations,  which  his 
thin,  angular  mother  gave  him  in  installments.  The 
boy  was  not  insistent  to-day.  His  father  had  returned 
from  the  store,  and  had  taken  his  one  cent  of  change  in 
candy.  The  baby  lay  now  in  his  mother's  arms,  tug- 
ging hard  at  the  breast  and  holding  fast  to  the  candy. 

"  Gimme  a  suck  of  your  candy,  honey,"  she  asked 
the  baby ;  but  the  urchin  kicked  a  dissent  and  tried  to 
grunt  an  emphatic  negative  without  relinquishing  any 
of  his  natural  rights. 

"  He's  got  his  pappy's  head  on  his  shoulders,"  said 
Goodwin  admiringly. 

"  I  reckon  that's  so,"  said  Mrs.  Goodwin  proudly. 

Mrs.  Goodwin  admired  her  husband  with  a  docile 
and  submissive  admiration  which  flourished  in  the 
44 


The  School  Board  Chairman  45 

shadow  of  a  willingly  endured  tyranny.  She  was  his 
second  wife,  and  the  farm  that  had  been  hers,  across 
the  mountain,  was  in  his  name  now,  and  she  was  glad 
to  be  relieved  of  the  responsibility, 

"  Hit's  plumb  time  for  me  to  be  a-weanin'  you,"  she 
said  to  the  baby.  "  Hit's  as  much  as  I  kin  do  to  git 
enough  stren'th  for  myself,  let  alone  feedin'  a  big  boy 
with  a  mouthful  of  teeth." 

"  Not  yet,"  said  Goodwin.  "  Let  him  git  a  good 
start  first." 

"  Gimme  a  bite  of  your  candy,  honey,"  she  pleaded 
again;  but  the  request  had  the  efifect  of  inducing  the 
youngster  to  drop  the  breast  and  transfer  the  candy  to 
his  mouth.  Soon,  however,  he  returned  again  and 
pounded  his  mother's  bare  breast  with  the  candy  while 
he  devoted  himself  to  his  native  food. 

"  He  feels  so  good  over  havin'  both  at  onct,"  said 
Goodwin,  "  he  don't  hardly  know  which  to  take.  I 
wisht  I  could  have  a  run  of  luck  lack  that." 

"  Now  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  stand  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Goodwin  to  the  baby  with  mock  severity.  "  I  am 
goin'  to  quit  if  you  don't  quit  daubin'  me  up  like 
that ! " 

"  You're  wastin'  a  heap  of  your  candy  that  away, 
Bill,"  suggested  his  father;  at  which  economical  sug- 
gestion the  baby  desisted  and  conserved  his  candy  for 
later  consumption.  Mrs.  Goodwin  leaned  forward 
and  removed  the  candy  stains  with  the  corners  of  the 
little  shoulder  shawl  she  wore,  which  served  at  times 
in  lieu  of  a  handkerchief. 

"  Peleg,"  she  said,  "  don't  you  reckon  hit's  about 
time  to  build  on  a  new  house  on  to  the  front  of  this 
here?" 


46  Pine  Knot 

"  Wha'  d'ye  want  a  new  house  fur  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Why,  you  know  you  promised  when  we  was 
married." 

"  A  feller  promises  a  heap  of  things  when  he  gits 
married  that  he  forgits  atter  a  spell." 

"  Well,  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  let  you  forgit  that." 

"  I  cyan't  aliford  it  now." 

"  Well,  you  kin  pay  for  it  out  of  my  farm  if  you 
want  to." 

"  Your  farm  ?     Hain't  that  mine  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  of  course.     Only " 

"  Well,  then,  if  hit's  mine,  don't  call  it  yourn.  Dog 
take  it,  if  there's  anything  I  hate  to  hear  hit's  a  woman 
talkin'  about  what's  hern  just  like  she  wasn't  mar- 
ried." 

"  You  needn't  git  ill,  Peleg.  Only  I  hate  to 
have  Renfros  in  that  house  all  made  out  of  sawed  lum- 
ber from  the  mill  and  ceiled  up  in  the  front  rooms  with 
walnut  and  pine — fust  a  plank  of  one  and  then  one  of 
t'other — and  we  a-livin'  in  this  old  house  that  hain't 
but  mighty  little  better  than  the  one  you  got  on  the 
morgidge  from  Deck  Morgan's  widder.  And  you 
know  you  told  me  you  was  worth  more'n  Renfro." 

"  Shet  up !  "  said  he.  "  Didn't  I  tell  you  not  to  tell 
that?" 

"  I  hain't  told  it  to  nobody  but  you." 

"  Well,  I  knowed  it  a'ready.  A  man  is  a  plumb 
fool  to  tell  a  woman  all  he  knows  when  they're  first 
married." 

"  Don't  be  ill.  Cyan't  you  call  in  some  of  that 
money  you've  got  loaned  out  in  Laurel  and  build  a 
front  part  to  the  house  like  Renfro's  ?  " 

"  No.  I  cyan't,"  said  he.    "  That  money  is  a-fetchin' 


The  School  Board  Chairman  47 

good  intrust.  But  looky  here,  old  gal!  How'd  you 
like  to  have  Renfro's  house  and  Renfro's  niggers? 
Hey?  Since  you  know  so  daggon  much,  I'll  tell  ye 
what  I've  got  a  sorter  idy  of  doin'.  I've  bought  some 
timber  land  down  by  the  river  in  partnership  with  Ren- 
fro,  and  lent  him  money  for  his  half.  He  don't  know 
he's  borried  hit  from  me — he-he!  He  thinks  I'm  jest 
agunt.  But  I've  had  the  morgidge  transferred  to  me, 
and  Renfro  hain't  no  idy  how  hard  hit's  a-goin'  to  be 
for  him  to  pay  off  that  morgidge !  They's  one  or  two 
conditions  thar  that  I  reckon  he  didn't  notice  p'tic'lar. 
But  I  noticed  'em.  He's  put  on  style  in  this  commu- 
nity a  heap  longer  than  he's  goin'  to." 

"  How  long  do  you  allow  hit'll  take  ?  "  asked  his 
wife. 

"  Three  years,  I  reckon.  Mebby  five.  But  hit's 
got  to  come." 

"  That's  a  long  time  to  wait,"  said  Mrs.  Goodwin. 

"Long?"  demanded  her  husband.  "Hit  won't 
be  long.  I've  been  a-layin'  low  for  ten  year.  But  he 
won't  put  no  morgidge  on  his  house,  and  he  don't 
know  that  he's  a-goin'  to  have  obleeged  to  do  it.  But 
I've  got  my  plans !  I've  got  my  plans !  Now,  look 
here !  Don't  you  go  to  doin'  none  of  your  fool  blab- 
bin'." 

"  Peleg,"  said  she,  "  you  know  I  won't.  Still,  I 
sorter  hate  to  think  of  gittin'  their  house.  One  jest 
like  hit  or  a  leetle  grain  better  would  suit  me  as  well,  I 
reckon." 

"  Hit  wouldn't  suit  me.  Not  half  so  well,"  said  her 
husband.  "And  I'll  tell  you  another  thing.  We've 
lived  pore  and  we're  a-goin'  to  live  pore  till  the  time 
comes.    But  the  time  ain't  a-goin'  to  last  forever.   You 


48  Pine  Knot 

know  Doc  Mallory  in  Huntsville  that  come  here  when 
the  baby  was  borned  ?  " 

"  I  reckon  I  do.     He  was  mighty  good  to  me." 

"  Well,  he  is  a  clever  feller  when  he  ain't  a-drinkin'. 
But  he's  drinkin'  harder,  and  he's  had  to  borry  money. 
And  there's  a  feller  in  Pine  Knot  has  lent  him  some 
money  as  a  sort  of  favor,  and  took  a  chattel  morgidge 
on  his  pair  of  niggers  and  their  young  'uns." 

"  But,  Peleg,  I'd  hate  to  git  his  niggers  away  from 
him." 

"  Why,  he's  a-goin'  to  lose  'em  anyhow,  and  hit's 
better  for  'em  to  go  to  some  one  that's  be'n  a  friend  to 
him,  ain't  it?  And  I've  got  some  other  lines  out. 
And  they're  all  on  the  quiet,  but  some  day  in  three  or 
four  year  I'm  goin'  to  pull  in  my  fish,  that's  what  I'm 
a-goin'  to  do.  And  you'll  jest  hatter  live  in  this  old 
house  till  then." 

Mrs.  Goodwin  laid  down  the  sleeping  boy  and  lifted 
the  cover  from  the  baker. 

"  They  ain't  quite  done,"  she  said,  and  replaced  it. 

She  was  eager  to  hear  more,  and  this  was  one  of 
Goodwin's  communicative  days.  She  sat  down,  lean- 
ing forward  expectantly. 

Goodwin  sat  for  a  time  in  silence.  He  was  a 
strongly  built  man  of  fifty-five,  and  wore  a  full  bushy 
beard.  A  pair  of  steel-bowed  spectacles  sat  constantly 
on  his  nose,  and  his  wide  wool  hat  sat  level  on  his 
head.  Decision  and  cunning  were  written  together  on 
his  features.  As  he  sat  his  jaws  worked  decisively  on 
the  tobacco  in  his  mouth,  and  he  spat  from  time  to 
time,  straight  across  the  baker  and  into  the  fire  with- 
out the  slightest  inclination  of  his  head  or  uncertainty 
of  aim. 


The  School  Board  Chairman  49 

"  You  was  a-speakin  about  the  Deck  Morgan 
house,"  he  said  after  a  pause. 

"  Yes,"  said  she. 

"  I've  rented  hit,"  said  he. 

"  Peleg  Goodwin !  You  ain't  found  no  hvin'  hu- 
man willin'  to  go  into  that  house,  have  ye  ?  " 

Peleg  chuckled. 

"  Well,  if  you  hain't  the  master  hand  ever  I  seed  1 " 
said  she  admiringly.     "  Who  is  it  ?  " 

"  The  new  teacher,"  said  he. 

"  Why,  Peleg  Goodwin !     Is  he,  for  sure  ?  " 

"  He  wouldn't  'a'  got  the  school  if  he  hadn't." 

"Who  is  he?" 

"  Oh,  he's  a  innocent  sort  of  a  feller,  with  a  wife 
and  one  gal,  he  said ;  and  he's  a-fetching  them  here 
from  Lexington." 

"  I'm  sorter  a-feared  they  won't  like  the  house," 
said  Mrs.  Goodwin  timidly. 

"  They  don't  know  nothing  about  this  fool  story  of 
the  ghost,  and  hit  won't  pester  them,  nohow." 

"  But  didn't  the  trustees  promise  the  school  to 
Preacher  Jim  Fletcher  ?  " 

"  They  hadn't  no  right  to  if  they  did.  What  busi- 
ness had  the  old  board  to  promise  the  school  before 
the  election  ?  " 

"  Well,  two  of  'em  held  over." 

"  Yes,  but  how'd  they  know  but  the  third  man 
would  have  so  much  more  sense  than  the  other  two 
that  he'd  win  'em  over  ?  " 

"  Ain't  that  jest  about  what  happened  ?  " 

"  I  reckon  hit  is.  I've  had  my  way  this  time, 
anyhow.  I  never  did  like  that  Jim  Fletcher,  nohow, 
and  I've  got  some  rent  money  out  of  that  house." 


50  Pine  Knot 

"How  much?" 

"  Two  dollars  a  month.  And  he  thought  hit  was 
cheap !  He's  a  man  that's  got  a  heap  of  book  learnin', 
but  he  ain't  got  no  more  wild-hog  sense  than  the  toe  of 
my  boot." 

"  Which  of  the  trustees  come  over?  " 

"  Noel  Davis.  I  had  to  give  him  the  first  month's 
rent  to  put  in  the  place  whar  he  keeps  his  conscience." 

"  Did  ye  git  the  first  month's  rent  in  advance  ?  " 

"  Eh,  did  I !  And  I  reckon  hit  was  about  all  the 
feller  had.  Here's  Smart.  Come  in,  Smart.  Well, 
did  you  git  that  corn  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  got  hit.  He's  to  deliver  fifty  bushels 
of  years  for  six  dollars  and  a  quarter  paid  now,  and 
the  corn  is  to  be  delivered  when  hit's  ripe." 

Smart  was  not  a  prepossessing  man  in  his  appear- 
ance. He  was  a  man  of  thirty,  sadly  stooped,  and 
wore  a  very  ragged  coat  and  a  nondescript  hat  of 
the  worst  possible  character.  It  had  been  brown, 
with  a  narrow  brim,  but  the  color  was  one  now  that 
would  escape  all  classification ;  and  as  for  the  shape, 
the  loss  of  band,  and  the  drawn-down  rim  and  battered 
and  broken  crown  made  it  as  scandalous  a  piece  of 
headgear  as  ever  man  wore.  When  he  removed  it, 
he  exhibited  a  bullet  head,  close  cropped,  as  though  he 
had  escaped  from  prison,  but  the  low  receding  brow 
and  unkempt  appearance  raised  a  question  whether  he 
would  have  been  held  sufficiently  responsible  to  be 
sent  to  prison,  and  his  meek,  obliging  deportment  cer- 
tainly was  an  indication  that  he  did  not  deserve  it. 
Yet  there  was  a  glitter  in  his  eye  that  showed  intelli- 
gence beyond  what  his  general  appearance  promised; 
and  when  he  talked,  though  at  first  you  might  not 


The  School  Board  Chairman  51 

have  noticed  it,  he  gave  indication  of  having  seen  and 
thought  to  better  advantage  than  at  first  seemed  pos- 
sible. If  he  did  not  improve  with  acquaintance,  cer- 
tainly acquaintance  served  to  increase  one's  sense  of 
his  ability,  and  to  raise  a  doubt  whether  the  first  glance, 
in  which  one  set  him  down  as  a  shiftless  ne'er-do-well, 
with  just  a  touch  of  viciousness  restrained  by  natu- 
ral indolence,  adequately  gauged  his  character. 

"  All  right,"  said  Goodwin ;  "  I  reckon  I'll  have 
obleeged  to  let  him  have  the  money.  Money's  right 
short  now,  but  a  man's  got  to  be  neighborly.  Keep 
watch  of  that  crap.  Smart,  and  if  you  see  the  yield's 
goin'  to  be  good  I'll  manage  to  lend  him  a  leetle  more 
to-wards  fall.  I  like  to  be  neighborly,  and  he's  got  a 
line  lot  of  young  hogs  comin'  on." 

"  Who's  that  ?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Goodwin,  her  scru- 
ples at  her  husband's  method  quite  overborne  by  her 
admiration  of  his  farsightedness  and  shrewdness. 

"  Dave  Cecil,"  said  Goodwin.  "  He's  had  a  sick 
young  un,  and  he'll  sell  so  much  corn  afore  it's  growed ; 
if  he  ain't  keerful  he'll  hatter  sell  his  hogs,  come 
winter,  to  whoever's  got  the  corn  to  feed  'em." 

"  And  that'll  be  you,"  tittered  Smart. 

"  Shet  up,  you  fool !  "  said  Goodwin. 

But  Smart  laughed  the  more  heartily,  and  hence 
the  less  loudly,  for  he  knew  that  Goodwin's  command 
to  shut  up  was  really  a  compliment,  and  intended  to 
commend  him  for  an  insight  into  motives  which,  just 
in  proportion  as  Goodwin  desired  to  conceal  them 
from  the  world  at  large,  he  wished  also  to  have  recog- 
nized by  the  few  people  whom  he  was  compelled  to 
trust. 

"  Supper's  ready,"  said  Mrs.  Goodwin. 


52  Pine  Knot 

Goodwin  and  Smart  rose  from  their  chairs,  Good- 
win as  he  pushed  back  catching  one  leg  of  his  chair 
in  the  cracks  between  the  puncheons.  He  swore  so 
loudly  that  he  woke  the  baby.  Mrs.  Goodwin  caught 
up  the  child  as  the  men  sat  down  to  supper.  The  baby 
rescued  the  candy,  and  resumed  the  dinner  with  the 
alternating  courses,  his  mother  singing  meantime  an 
old-time  ballad ; 

"And  bury  far  Eleanor  in  my  arms, 
And  the  brown  gal  at  my  feet." 

Still  she  had  an  ear  for  the  conversation  between 
Goodwin  and  Smart,  who  sat  in  the  shed  room,  with 
the  open  door  between. 

"  That  feller's  come,"  said  Smart. 

"What  feller?" 

"  The  one  that's  rented  the  Deek  Morgan  place." 

"Who  told  you?" 

"  Noel  Davis.     Didn't  you  know  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  heerd  it  at  the  store  a  spell  atter  he'd 
went  by." 

"  Wonder  whar  he'll  stay  till  he  gits  the  old  house 
fixed  up  ?  " 

"  I  dunno.  I've  done  my  sheer  in  providing  the 
house  for  him.  Some  one  else  can  look  out  for  him 
now." 

"  Is  Mr.  Goodwin  in  ?  "  asked  a  voice  at  the  door 
at  that  moment. 

Mrs.  Goodwin  rose,  the  baby  still  holding  tightly 
to  her. 

"Howdy?"  she  said.  "Come  in. — Peleg,  I 
reckon  this  is  the  new  teacher." 

Peleg  rose  from  the  table  and  came  into  the  front 


The  School  Board  Chairman  53 

room.  The  sun  was  still  an  hour  above  the  horizon, 
pouring  its  light  through  the  open  door,  casting 
the  teacher's  shadow  the  length  of  the  room  and  on 
the  wall  beyond. 

Goodwin  greeted  him  courteously.  "  Howdy,  Mr. 
Buzbee  ?  "  he  said.  "  Right  proud  to  see  you.  Got 
here,  did  ye?  If  I'd  knowed  you  was  coming,  I'd  'a' 
met  you." 

"  Quite  unnecessary,  Mr.  Goodwin ;  quite  unneces- 
sary. We  are  overwhelmed  by  the  kindness  of  the 
people  already.     Mr.  Renfro  has  taken  us  in." 

'*  Yas.  Renfro's  a  right  clever  feller,  and  he's  got 
a  house  that  can  take  keer  of  folks  that's  been  used  to 
having  things  like  they'd  ought  to  be.  Pore  folks  has 
pore  ways.  We  feel  ashamed  a  heap  of  times  that  we 
cyan't  do  more  for  folks  than  what  we  can.  You'd  be 
right  welcome  to  such  as  we've  got." 

"  I  thank  you.  But  at  present  we  are  provided  for, 
and  we  hope  to  be  in  our  own  home  soon.  I — I — 
I  came  over  to  ask,  Mr.  Goodwin,  whether  some  repairs 
may  not  be  made  on  the  schoolhouse — and — I  hesitate 
to  ask  so  much — on  the  house  that  is  to  be  my 
home  also.  I — I —  Believe  me,  I  dislike  to  trouble 
you " 

"  Wall,  as  to  the  repairs  on  the  schoolhouse,  I'll 
call  a  meeting  of  the  board.  I  reckon  they  is  some  re- 
pairs needed.  Hit  stood  open  all  last  winter,  and  some 
hogs  got  in,  I  reckon.  We'll  have  a  workin',  and  see 
to  that.  Smart,  you  go  over  to  Noel's  and  tell  him 
we  got  to  git  the  fellers  out  and  fix  that  schoolhouse 
up." 

With  such  heartiness  did  Mr.  Goodwin  accept  the 
part  of  the  request  which  he  could  share  generously 


54  Pine  Knot 

with  others  that  it  was  doubly  hard  for  Mr.  Buzbee  to 
press  his  own  request. 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you.  And  may  I  ask  if  you 
can  at  the  same  time  repair  the  house  which  I  have 
rented  ? " 

"  What's  the  matter  with  hit?  " 

"  I — I  had  not  observed  anything.  But  my  wife 
noticed  some  leaks  in  the  roof,  and  my  daughter 
thought  the  chimney  defective.  And  I  myself  noticed, 
when  they  called  my  attention  to  these  things,  that  the 
cracks  in  the  walls  and  floor  are  very  large." 

"  They's  cracks  in  my  floor,"  said  Goodwin.  "  Hit 
don't  seem  as  if  I'd  orter  have  to  fix  a  better  house  for 
other  folks  than  what  I  live  in  myself." 

"  I — I  thought  of  suggesting,"  stammered  Mr, 
Buzbee,  "  that  if  you  thought  right,  I  would  bear  a 
share  in  the  expense  of  the  repairs." 

"  I  reckon  that  would  do,"  said  Goodwin.  "  Do 
you  reckon  you  could  advance  me  a  couple  of  months' 
rent  to-wards  my  sheer?  " 

"  I — I  think  so.  I  do  not  have  the  money  with 
me.     But  I  will  procure  it." 

"All  right,  Mr.  Buzbee.  We'll  fix  the  chimbly 
and  the  roof  and  chink  the  walls.  I  reckon  we'll  have 
to  let  the  floor  go." 

"  You  are  very  generous,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee. 
"  Your  kindness  really  touches  me.  I  know  that  I  ask 
much,  far  more  than  I  would  for  myself.  But  I  wish 
to  provide  a  home  for  my  wife  and  family." 

"  Tell  your  wife  Howdy  for  me,"  said  Mrs.  Good- 
win, "  and  ask  her  and  your  gal  to  come  over  and 
see  me." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee.     "  I  will  do  so. 


The  School  Board  Chairman  55 

Good  evening,  Mr.  Goodwin.  Good  evening,  mad- 
am." 

"  I  lay  off  to  come  over  to  Renfro's  atter  a  spell," 
said  Goodwin.     "  I  reckon  you'll  be  thar?" 

"  Yes ;  I  shall  be  there  to-night." 

"  All  right.  I'll  come  over  and  see  how  things  is 
moving.  We'd  oughter  be  a-stirring  a  little  about  the 
opening  of  school." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  come  and  talk  matters 
over.     Good  evening." 

"  Good-by.  You'd  best  stop  and  spend  the  night 
here." 

"  No,  thank  you.     I  will  see  you  at  Mr.  Renfro's.'* 


CHAPTER   V 

A    POSSIBLE    CASTAWAY 

James  Fletcher  was  riding  to  fill  his  appointment 
at  No  Bus'ness,  where  he  was  to  preach  at  early  candle 
lighting.  No  Bus'ness  creek  is  formed  by  the  junc- 
tion of  Troublesome  and  Difficulty,  and  there  was  to 
be  night  preaching  there.  His  heart  was  hot  and  bit- 
ter as  he  approached  Pine  Knot.  Here  was  the  scene 
of  his  most  joyous  and  remunerative  work.  He  had 
taught  the  three  months'  school  last  year,  when  the 
wages  were  only  fifteen  dollars  a  month,  and  now, 
when  the  district  had  been  enlarged  and  the  pay  would 
be  something  handsome,  it  had  been  taken  from  him. 
He  had  not  been  able  to  carry  out  his  plan  with  the 
earnings  of  the  first  year.  His  mother,  who  lived  on 
Roundstone,  had  been  sick,  and  he  had  done  a  son's 
duty.  She  was  convalescent  now,  and  his  stepfather 
was  doing  a  little  better,  and  there  was  not  likely  to  be 
any  demand  upon  him  this  year.  The  books  that  he 
longed  for  were  almost  within  reach.  There  was  a 
concordance ;  he  had  never  seen  one,  and  it  did  not 
seem  possible  that  there  could  be  such  a  thing,  but 
the  presiding  elder  had  recommended  it  and  told  him 
that  with  it  one  could  find  any  passage  in  the  Bible  in 
half  a  minute.  Watson's  Theology,  too,  and  Barnes's 
56 


A  Possible  Castaway  57 

Notes  on  the  Gospels  were  on  his  Hst,  and  a  text-book 
on  logic,  and  a  book  on  science.  He  had  conned  the 
list  and  prices  a  thousand  times.  He  was  to  receive 
deacon's  orders  at  the  annual  conference  this  year. 
With  such  reading  as  he  could  do  in  another  year  he 
hoped  to  be  able  to  take  a  regular  circuit  next  year, 
and  to  be  listed  as  a  circuit  rider,  and  not,  as  now,  an 
exhorter.  This  had  been  his  day  dream.  Bitterly  had 
he  struggled  over  it  last  year;  yes,  it  had  cost  him  a 
struggle  to  pay  his  money  even  for  his  mother's  illness. 
He  read  many  times  the  words  of  Christ  condemning 
the  gift  of  corban,  when  money  dedicated  to  God  left 
a  parent  to  suffer.  There  had  been  little  love  lost  be- 
tween him  and  his  stepfather,  and  home  going  had 
g^ven  him  no  pleasure  in  recent  years.  Indeed,  his 
mother  had  seemed  no  longer  his,  till  that  terrible  sick- 
ness came  just  as  he  received  his  school  money.  If  he 
was  tempted  to  glory  in  the  fact  that  he  had  given  his 
money  for  her  recovery,  he  had  shame  in  the  recollec- 
tion that  it  cost  him  such  a  struggle.  For  James 
Fletcher  had  one  consuming  ambition,  an  ambition 
that  took  stronger  hold  upon  him  because  it  possessed 
so  many  good  and  true  elements,  and  that  was  to  be 
a  preacher  of  the  Gospel,  and  the  ablest  and  wisest  one 
in  Whitley  County.  About  him  were  few  preachers 
that  cared  for  books.  The  Baptists  were  ignorant, 
almost  to  a  man ;  he  did  not  know  a  preacher  among 
them  that  thought  the  earth  to  be  round,  and  several 
of  them  could  not  even  read.  The  Methodists  were 
driven  to  some  reading  by  their  conference  examina- 
tions, but  the  examinations  were  necessarily  superfi- 
cial, and  hardly  touched  the  branches  they  professed 
to  cover.      How  could  it  be  otherwise,  in  the  rude 


58  Pine  Knot 

and  stern  conditions  of  life  that  left  little  time  for 
reading  ? 

He  had  no  thought  of  earning  his  living  by  preach- 
ing. There  was  not  a  minister  about  who  did  that. 
They  all  owned  farms  and  worked  them,  and  what 
they  received  was  free  board  and  horse  feed,  a  pitiful 
quarterage,  paid  mostly  in  produce,  and  an  annual  do- 
nation just  before  conference  that  sometimes  in  its 
best  estate  sufficed  to  buy  a  new  suit  of  clothes  and  a 
stock  of  horseshoes.  That  was  all  he  expected.  It 
was  not  for  money's  sake  that  he  wanted  money,  but 
his  soul  hungered  for  knowledge,  and  he  had  read  and 
reread  his  few  books  till  he  could  tell  their  contents 
as  he  could  spell  the  column  of  words  that  began  with 
"  ba-ker  "  in  Webster's  old  blue-back  speller. 

He  was  thinking  bitterly  of  these  things  when  he 
met  Jake  Trosper. 

"  Howdy,  parson  ?  "  said  Jake, 

"Howdy,  Jake?"  said  Fletcher.  "I  didn't  see 
you  till  you  spoke." 

"  Studyin'  'bout  something,  was  ye?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Your  sarmon  ?  " 

"  No,  not  this  time." 

"  I  reckon  I  know,"  said  Jake. 

"  I  reckon  you  do,"  said  Jim. 

There  was  silence  a  moment,  then  Jake  said,  "  He's 
come,  parson." 

"Who?" 

"  The  feller  that's  to  keep  the  school.  He's  goin' 
to  live  in  Deek  Morgan's  old  house." 

A  sudden  resolution  came  over  Fletcher,  and  he 
started  to  ride  on. 


A  Possible  Castaway  59 

"  Good  evening',  Jake ;  I'll  have  to  be  riding  on.  I 
got  to  preach  at  No  Bus'ness  to-night." 

"  Good  night,  parson.  I'm  mighty  sorry.  I 
reckon  the  other  fellers  sold  ye  out.  I  wist  I'd  'a'  been 
re-elected,  and  me  and  Bill  would  have  done  gin  ye 
the  school." 

"  Thank  you,  Jake.  I  know  you  would.  Good 
night." 

He  touched  his  fine  horse  with  the  switch  he  car- 
ried, and  started  ahead.  A  mile  farther  was  the  house 
of  Deek  Morgan,  owned,  as  he  knew,  by  Peleg  Good- 
win. It  was  all  plain  to  him.  The  stranger  had 
bribed  the  new  trustee  by  paying  rent  on  this  old 
house.  It  was  a  game  of  fraud,  and  he  was  the  victim 
of  threefold  dishonesty.  He  had  been  hot  and  sullen 
before,  he  was  well-nigh  furious  when  he  drew  rein  be- 
fore the  house.  The  door  was  ajar.  He  rode  up 
and  called,  "  Hello !  " 

There  was  a  moment's  delay,  and  then  there  came 
to  the  door  not  the  man  whom  he  expected  to  see,  but 
a  young  woman,  rosy-cheeked,  and  with  bright,  gold- 
en hair  glistening  under  the  white  sunbonnet  that, 
slipping  back,  formed  with  the  hair  a  halo  round  her 
face  as  she  stood  in  the  doorway  in  the  glow  of  the 
westering  sun. 

James  Fletcher  sat  spellbound  on  his  horse.  If 
Deek  Morgan's  ghost  had  confronted  him  it  would 
have  astonished  him  less  than  the  sight  of  this  beauti- 
ful creature.     For  a  full  minute  he  did  not  speak. 

Then  he  touched  his  hat  with  his  whip,  and  said : 

"  Good  evening,  miss.  I  want  to  see  the  man  who 
has  come  to  keep  the  school." 

"  My  father  ?     He  is  at  Mr.  Renfro's ;  or,  no !  I  do 


6o  Pine  Knot 

not  think  he  is  there,  I  heard  him  asking  if  he  would 
have  time  before  supper  to  walk  over  to  Mr.  Good- 
win's and  see  about  some  repairs  on  the  house.  If  he 
is  not  at  Mr.  Renfro's,  however,  he  will  be  back  soon." 

"  I  have  not  time  to  wait,"  said  Fletcher.  "  I  will 
see  him  another  time." 

"  I  will  take  a  message  to  him,"  said  Barbara.  "  I 
am  going  back  at  once.  I  came  to  get  a  few  things 
which  my  mother  needs.  I  will  deliver  any  word 
which  you  wish  me  to  take." 

Fletcher  stopped  to  think.  Well,  why  should  she 
not  take  the  message?  Was  not  his  cause  a  just  one? 
Was  he  ashamed  of  his  message  because  it  was  to  be 
sent  by  a  girl  ?  Was  this  his  courage,  that  oozed  out 
at  sight  of  a  pretty  face  ?  He  turned,  and  with  rising 
warmth  said : 

"  Tell  your  father  that  I  forbid  him  to  open  school. 
Tell  him  I  know  that  he  has  obtained  it  by  bribery  and 
fraud.  Tell  him  that  the  school  was  promised  to  me 
nine  months  ago,  and  that  it  is  mine  by  every  right. 
Tell  him  that  I  warn  him  not  to  begin  school." 

Barbara  looked  straight  at  the  man  before  her, 
and  with  indignation  asked :  "  And  what  effect,  sir, 
do  you  expect  this  message  to  have  upon  my  father  ?  " 

"  That  depends,"  said  Fletcher,  "  on  whether  he 
has  any  honor  left." 

"  Honor !  "  she  cried.  "  You  question  my  father's 
honor?  My  father,  of  all  men  who  ever  lived!  My 
father,  sir,  is  the  soul  of  honor !  " 

"  Of  course,"  said  Fletcher,  stumbling,  "  I  didn't 
start  to  accuse  your  father  to  you,  but " 

"  But  you  have  done  so,  and  have  questioned  his 
honor,  and  accused  him  of  fraud,  and  have  sent  a 


A  Possible  Castaway  6i 

threatening  message.  Well,  sir,  I  will  deliver  it.  And 
do  you  think  you  will  frighten  my  father?  He  has 
faced  a  score  of  mobs  single-handed  and  unarmed. 
Do  you  think  he  will  fear  one  bully?  He  has  stood 
before  great  audiences  that  seethed  with  passion  while 
he  was  the  only  calm  man  in  the  house.  He  has  raised 
his  voice  against  dishonor  in  half  the  States  of  this 
Union,  and  do  you,  a  threatening,  angry  bully,  ques- 
tion his  honor?  My  father,  sir,  though  tender  as  a 
woman  and  sensitive  as  a  child  to  pain  or  unkindness, 
has  the  courage  of  a  lion.  He  would  snap  his  fingers 
at  your  brutal  threats." 

"  I  did  not  threaten,"  explained  Fletcher. 

"  You  told  me  to  warn  him  not  to  begin  school. 
And  he  will  despise  your  warning,  as  I  do." 

James  Fletcher  rode  away,  chagrined  and  amazed. 
He  had  been  in  the  wrong  again.  The  very  justice  of 
his  cause  had  given  him  a  self-confidence  that  had  led 
him  into  sin.  And  he  was  going  to  preach  the  Gospel 
that  very  night — he  who  had  shown  passion  and  ill- 
will,  he  who  had  questioned  the  honor  of  a  man  whom 
he  did  not  know,  and  insulted  a  woman  beside.  Why 
should  he  preach  to  others,  who  was  perhaps  himself 
a  castaway?  Had  he  fallen  from  grace,  and  was  his 
disappointment  and  humiliation  the  mark  of  Divine 
displeasure  ? 

He  whipped  his  horse  into  a  gallop  and  sped  to- 
ward No  Bus'ness;  but  half  a  mile  short  of  his  ap- 
pointment he  stopped,  turned  from  the  road,  and, 
hitching  his  horse,  spent  an  hour  on  the  hillside  over- 
looking the  No  Bus'ness  valley  in  what  he  called  silent 
prayer.  The  people  who  were  gathering  for  the  serv- 
ice heard  him  there,  and  knew  that  he  was  coming  to 


62  Pine  Knot 

the  meeting  from  his  knees.  They  prayed,  too,  for 
he  was  late  in  coming,  and  an  earnest,  expectant  spirit 
filled  the  room  when  he  entered,  and,  hanging  his  sad- 
dlebags across  a  chair,  took  out  his  Bible  and  began 
to  preach : 

"  My  friends,"  said  he,  "  I  ain't  worthy  to  preach 
the  Gospel.  I'm  a  poor  sinner,  and  I  sometimes  doubt 
my  own  salvation.  Satan  has  desired  me  to  sift  me  as 
wheat,  and  he's  sifted  me,  and  I  reckon  the  reason  he 
didn't  take  me  was  that  I  wasn't  worth  while.  But 
the  word  of  God  is  not  bound  by  the  human  weak- 
nesses of  the  preacher,  and  I'm  going  to  preach  to 
you  as  a  dying  man  and  a  sinner  to  dying  men  and  sin- 
ners. Pray  for  me  while  I  preach,  brethren,  for  I  need 
your  prayers." 

Far  from  discrediting  the  message  which  followed, 
this  introduction  was  accepted  as  the  badge  of  a  prop- 
er, though  unusual  humility,  and  made  the  sermon 
that  followed,  which  was  a  powerful  one,  most  efifec- 
tive.  There  were  fifteen  "  souls "  at  the  altar  for 
prayers  that  night,  of  whom  six  "  got  through  "  before 
the  meeting  closed,  and  were  taken  in  on  probation. 
Besides  this,  Larkin  Sumner,  who  joined  the  Baptists 
later,  dated  his  conversion  from  that  sermon  of  James 
Fletcher's. 

Among  those  who  heard  James  Fletcher  that  night 
there  was  one  who  always  heard  him  with  admiration, 
and  who  listened  to-night  with  rapt  attention.  It  was 
no  secret  that  Liberty  Preston  admired  James  Fletcher, 
and  there  were  not  a  few  who  looked  for  the  announce- 
ment of  the  engagement  between  them  whenever 
Fletcher  came  to  No  Bus'ness  and  stayed  at  Pres- 
ton's big  double  house,  near  the  fork  of  Trouble- 


A  Possible  Castaway  63 

some  and  Difficulty.  Fletcher  himself  had  thought 
of  it  as  a  possibility;  and,  while  denying  himself  all 
present  thought  of  matrimony,  was  fond  of  staying 
at  Preston's.  He  did  not  always  stay  there,  to  be 
sure,  but  Silas  Preston  was  class  leader  on  No 
Bus'ness,  and  Liberty  was  the  leading  singer,  and 
Mrs.  Preston  could  fry  a  chicken  to  perfection  and 
make  such  biscuits  as  are  the  joy  of  a  preacher's  heart. 
She  put  four  kinds  of  preserves  on  the  table,  too — or 
three  besides  honey — when  the  preacher  came,  and, 
unlike  the  Forbeses,  who  always  displayed  all  they  had, 
but  were  careful  not  to  have  it  all  used,  Mrs.  Preston 
put  a  spoon  in  each  jar.  So  it  was  natural  that  the 
minister  should  go  often  to  Preston's,  for  it  is  well 
known  that  righteous  men,  such  as  ministers  of  the 
Gospel,  are  fond  of  spring  chicken  and  beaten  biscuits 
with  honey  and  preserves.  But,  much  as  there  was 
to  take  a  minister  to  Preston's,  a  man  could  not  al- 
ways go  to  the  same  place,  and  Brother  Forbes  was 
first  in  inviting  him  that  night.  So,  although  Liberty 
stayed  with  her  father  till  the  last  "  mourner  "  at  the 
bench  had  been  prayed  for  and  sung  with,  and  though 
the  invitation  was  pressed  upon  him,  and  a  promise  ob- 
tained that  he  would  stop  there  next  time,  the  Pres- 
tons  rode  home  without  him.  But  Liberty  comforted 
herself  with  his  promise. 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE    CHIMNEY    CORNER 

"  There  ain't  nothing  I  love  like  an  evening  like 
this,"  said  Renfro  after  supper.  "  An  evening  when  it 
ain't  too  hot  nor  ain't  too  cold,  when  you  jest  set  by 
the  light  of  the  pine  knots,  not  needing  a  lire  nor  find- 
ing a  little  blaze  uncomfortable.  Hit  sorter  thaws  out 
all  the  good  they  is  in  me,  and  makes  me  feel  like  the 
kingdom  was  coming,  sure  enough.  Some  folks  loves 
one  thing  and  some  another,  but  I  pinely  believe  they 
ain't  nothing  I  love  so  well  as  to  set  by  the  fire  of  an 
evening,  having  a  good  visit,  and  sorter  gittin'  a  little 
more  logy  all  the  time,  and  then  kiver  up  the  fire  and 
lay  down  on  a  bed  that's  got  some  goose  ha'r  on  top 
of  the  straw.  As  I  git  older  I  find  I  keer  a  heap  more 
than  I  did  for  goose  ha'r." 

Mr.  Buzbee  looked  troubled,  and  was  about  to  in- 
quire whether  any  new  variety  of  goose  had  made  Pine 
Knot  its  habitat,  but  Barbara  laughed,  and  Mr.  Buz- 
bee saw  that  the  reference  to  goose  hair  must  be  a 
humorous  allusion  to  feathers. 

"  This  village  has  abundance  of  the  knot  for  which 
it  is  named,"  said  Barbara. 

"  Thousands,  thousands  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Renfro, 
who  used  the  term  en  masse.  "  Nothing  so  plenty 
64 


The  Chimney  Corner  65 

here,  and  nothing  in  it's  way  so  good.  Who's  that? 
— Pete,  run  to  the  door  and  see  who's  there." 

"  Hit's  Daddy  Campbell,  sah,"  said  Pete. 

"  Run  down,  Pete,  and  help  him  in,"  said  Renfro. 

"  Yas,  sah,"  said  Simon  Peter,  and  hastened  to  the 
front  gate. 

"  Howdy,  Pete,  howdy  ?  Reckon  your  maws'r's 
got  room  for  me  to-night?  Gimme  a  lift  on  that 
wheel,  than" 

"  Ce't'nly,  sah.  Ce't'nly ;  Maws'r  Daddy,  he's  al- 
ways got  room  for  you." 

"  Wheel  him  in,  Pete. — Right  in  this  way,  daddy. 
— Git  out,  Ben! — Pete,  kick  them  dogs  out  of  the 
chimbley  corner,  and  make  room  for  daddy's  wagon. — 
Where'U  you  have  it,  daddy — about  thar?  Stick  out 
your  toes  and  git  'em  warm." 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you,"  said  the  crippled  old 
man,  extending  toward  the  fire  a  pair  of  shriveled 
legs.  "  I  ain't  cold,  but  a  fire  feels  good.  I  ain't  so 
young  as  I  used  to  be." 

"  Le's  see,  how  old  are  you  ?  I've  heerd  so  many 
times  I've  plumb  forgot.  Over  a  hundred,  ain't 
you  ?  " 

"  No.  Ninety-nine  and  about  ten  months.  I've 
sorter  had  a  hope  lately,  Mr.  Renfro,  that  when  I  git 
to  be  a  hundred  the  Lord'll  have  mercy  on  me.  I 
don't  look  for  no  relief  till  then." 

"  Now  you  look  a-here !  Don't  you  go  to  talkin' 
like  that.  You're  gittin'  up  a  conspiracy  to  go  ofif 
and  die !  I  pinely  don't  like  that.  What'll  we  do  for 
wooden  bowls  and  sich?     You  just  got  to  stay  on !  " 

"  Oh,  but  I'd  like  to  git  outen  folks's  way.  And 
it's  a  awful  thing  to  be  cussed  so's  one  cyan't  die." 


66  Pine  Knot 

"  I  reckon  that's  so,  daddy.  But  you've  lived  now 
till  you've  skeered  off  the  hoodoo,  I  reckon." 

"  I've  outlived  the  bitterness  of  the  cuss,  and  that's 
a  sure-enough  blessing ;  but  still,  it  ain't  like  the  bless- 
ing hit  would  be  to  die. — Howdy,  Mis'  Renfro?  Yes, 
I've  come  to  pester  you  ag'in.  They  had  company 
come  over  to  Mr.  Strunk's,  and  they  said  I  mout  stay 
right  on,  but  I  allowed  I'd  best  git  away  if  you  could 
keep  me  a  day  or  so.  I  got  sorter  late,  comin'  by 
Granny  White's  with  a  gourd  I've  been  a-cuttin'  out 
for  her  and  to  git  me  some  goose  grease  for  my  rheu- 
matiz.  I  didn't  know  you  had  company,  too,  Mis' 
Renfro." 

"  Bless  my  heart,  daddy,  that  ain't  no  matter ! " 
said  Mrs.  Renfro,  wiping  her  hands  on  her  apron, 
"  We've  always  got  room  for  you ! — Mr.  Renfro,  I  do 
believe  you  hain't  made  Daddy  Campbell  acquainted 
with  the  teacher  and  Miss  Barbara.  Have  you  plumb 
forgot  your  manners  ?  " 

"  I  never  had  none,  only  them  I've  got  invested 
in  my  wife's  name,"  said  Renfro.  "  You'll  have 
to  make  allowance  for  me,  Mr.  Buzbee.  I'm  a 
rough  sorter  feller,  I  reckon.  This  here  is  Daddy 
Campbell,  And  this  here's  his  daughter,  Miss  Bar- 
bara." 

"  She  ain't  neither  his  daughter ;  she's  Mr.  Buz- 
bee's,"  said  Mrs.  Renfro. 

"  That's  what  I  said,  ain't  it?  " 

"  No,  you  didn't.  You  said  she  was  Daddy  Camp- 
bell's." 

"  Well,  if  I  did  I'll  stick  to  it,  I've  been  to  court 
often  enough  to  learn  that  if  a  man  tells  a  lie  he's  got 
to  stick  to  it.     And  Daddy  Campbell's  daddy  to  every- 


The  Chimney  Corner  67 

body  around  here.  So,  Miss  Barbara,  you've  got 
more  kin  folks  than  what  you  knew." 

"  That's  the  way  he  gits  out  of  his  awkwardness  in 
introducing  people,"  said  Mrs.  Renfro  admiringly. 
Her  sparring  matches  with  her  husband  were  designed 
in  part  to  show  him  ofT,  and  she  was  justly  proud  of 
him. 

Barbara  took  the  thin,  drawn-up  hand  that  was 
extended  toward  her,  noticing  a  certain  gracefulness 
in  the  manner  of  the  deformed  old  man. 

"  Right  proud  to  meet  you,  my  lady,"  said  daddy. 

"  Here  comes  Dinah  to  see  you,  daddy.  And  this 
here  is  her  daughter  Sallie's  little  nigger.  I  reckon 
you  remember  Sallie?  She  was  about  the  smartest 
darkey  of  'em  all !  We  hated  to  let  her  go,  but  she  got 
into  love  with  one  of  Jim  Cecil's  niggers,  and  a  right 
likely  yeller  feller  he  is,  too ;  and  we  let  Sal  go  so's  to 
live  with  her  man. — Come  right  up,  honey,  and  see 
daddy.     He's  mighty  good  to  little  children." 

The  little  one  came  up  timidly,  its  wool  tied  in 
short  pigtails  all  over  its  head,  and  these  tied  down 
so  tight  to  threads  that  ran  from  one  to  another  that 
the  tails  were  hardly  in  evidence  at  all,  and  the  head 
showed  a  series  of  dark  patches  separated  by  the 
partings,  and  looking  like  a  phrenological  chart. 

"  Come  here,  honey,  come  to  daddy.  I've  got  a 
pretty  for  you,"  and  he  held  up  a  beautiful  bit  of  shell, 
delicately  tinted  and  water  worn. 

The  child  came  to  him,  accepted  the  gift,  and  soon 
was  so  happy  with  him  that  it  required  some  force  to 
get  her  away. 

"  Run  along  to  the  kitchen  now,  honey.  I'm 
gwine  come  and  put  you  into  yo'  bed." 


68  Pine  Knot 

"  That's  a  likely  child,  Dinah,"  said  daddy. 

"  I  nebbah  could  b'ar  her,"  said  Dinah  proudly. 
"  She  show  de  dirt  so  easy." 

"  You  run  along,  Dinah,  and  git  Daddy  Campbell 
something  to  eat." 

"  I've  done  got  it,  misses,"  said  Dinah. 

"  Wheel  yourself  right  out,  daddy,"  said  Mrs. 
Renfro ;  "  and  when  you  git  your  supper  come  back." 

"  What's  them  dogs  a-barkin'  at  ?  They's  some 
person  out  thar,"  said  Renfro.  "  Go  out,  Pete,  and 
see." 

"  I  ain't  got  to  go  out  to  see,"  said  Peter,  shuffling 
toward  the  door.  "  Hey  dah,  Ben !  You  Ben,  come 
hyah!  Come  heah,  Bruno!  'Peah's  lack  de  dogs 
knows  who  to  like.     Come  in,  Maws'r  Goodwin." 

"  Howdy,  Goodwin  ?  Come  in.  Take  a  cheer  and 
put  yourself  level  on  it.  Rest  your  hat.  You've  met 
Mr.  Buzbee?  This  here's  his  daughter.  Mis'  Buz- 
bee  had  a  headache,  and  laid  down  early.  Mis'  Ren- 
fro's  here  somewheres — she  was  here  a  minute  ago.  I 
reckon  she's  gone  to  see  about  Daddy  Campbell's  sup- 
per.    Well,  Goodwin,  what  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  come  over  to  talk  about  repairing  the  school- 
house.  I  reckoned  we  could  get  up  a  sort  of  a  workin', 
and  have  the  hull  deestrick  turn  out  and  fix  up  the 
schoolhouse  and  mebby  do  a  leetle  grain  to  the  teach- 
er's house,  too." 

"  Hit  needs  it  right  bad,"  admitted  Renfro,  with  a 
possible  touch  of  sarcasm.  "  Well,  I'll  do  my  share. 
When  '11  you  go  at  it  ?  " 

"'  Monday,  I  reckon." 

"  All  right.  Send  out  word.  We  can  norate  it 
around  at  meetin'  come  Sunday." 


The  Chimney  Corner  69 

"  I  wish  it  could  be  done  sooner,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee. 
"  I  should  like  to  get  into  my  house  soon." 

"  Well,  I  reckon  hit  won't  hurt  you  to  live  over 
Sunday  on  what  we  live  on  all  the  while,"  said  Renfro. 
"  You  stay  right  here  till  we  git  your  house  in  shape." 

"  You  are  very  good,"  said  Barbara. 

"  Here  comes  daddy,"  said  Renfro.  "  Well,  daddy, 
couldn't  you  find  nothin'  more  to  eat  ?  I  didn't  reckon 
you  could  eat  up  what  Dinah  had  so  soon." 

"  Plenty,  plenty,"  said  daddy.  "  I  don't  eat  much, 
and  they  all  feed  me  well.  I  ain't  got  no  teeth  to  do  no 
good." 

"  Well,  set  up  to  the  fire  and  tell  us  what  you  know. 
Didn't  you  know  this  old  feller  over  on  Copper 
Creek — this  man  Mundy  ?  " 

"  I  knowed  him  well,"  said  daddy. 

"  He's  right  sick,"  said  Renfro. 

"  Is  he  ?  "  asked  Goodwin  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  they  don't  allow  he'll  live  long,"  said  Renfro. 

"  I've  got  some  business  with  him,"  said  Goodwin. 
"  I  reckon  I'd  best  ride  over  to-morrow." 

"  I  knowed  his  father,"  said  Daddy.  "  He  come 
over  from  No'th  C'liny  with  Swift — you've  heerd  about 
Swift  that  had  the  mine  ?  They  uster  tell  a  right  quare 
tale  about  a  lode  of  silver  back  by  the  river,  and  how 
him  and  a  feller  named  Wright  got  the  secret  of  it 
from  an  Injun." 

"  How  was  that  ?  "  asked  Goodwin. 

"  Well,  you  know  Swift  found  a  great  mine  here 
in  these  mountains,  and  got  silver  out  of  it  so  pure  he 
made  it  up  into  dollars  and  took  'em  back  into  No'th 
C'liny  and  passed  'em." 

"  I've  heerd  tell  about  that,"  said  Renfro,  "  and 


70  Pine  Knot 

about  their  arresting  him,  and  not  being  able  to  con- 
vict him  because  his  dollars  had  more  silver  than  the 
ones  the  Gov'maint  made." 

"  I've  wished  a  heap  of  times  I  knowed  where  he 
buried  the  money  he  left  here  in  the  mountains,"  said 
Goodwin. 

"  What  was  the  tale  about  Mundy  ?  "  asked  Renfro. 

"  Well,  they  told  how  him  and  Wright  and  a  feller 
name  of  Jeflferson  was  with  Swift,  and  how  they  begun 
to  feel  that  Swift  was  gettin'  more  than  his  sheer  of  the 
silver.  And  one  day  when  they  was  off  in  the  woods 
they  met  an  Injun  that  told  'em  that  he'd  tell  them 
where  the  main  lode  was  for  their  two  guns,  and  they 
agreed  to  it.  Well,  the  tale  runs  that  he  told  'em,  but 
when  hit  come  to  givin'  up  both  guns,  they  was  a-feared 
to  do  it,  thinkin'  mebby  the  Injun  would  kill  'em.  And 
so  they  asked  the  Injun  to  take  one.  The  Injun  said 
he  darsn't,  for  the  other  Injuns,  like  as  not,  would 
want  to  kill  him  for  tellin',  and  he'd  got  to  have  both 
guns  to  defend  hisself.  And  they  got  all  the  more 
skeered,  and  they  finally  come  to  the  conclusion  be- 
tween theirselves  that  they'd  kill  the  Injun.  So  they 
did.  They  shot  him  down  by  the  river,  jest  above  the 
falls,  and  he  went  down  over  the  falls ;  and  as  he  went 
he  shrieked  out  a  cuss  on  their  souls  and  on  the  secret 
he'd  told  'em,  and  said  his  spirit  would  ha'nt  the  place. 
Old  Mundy  never  dared  to  go  to  the  place,  but  they 
say  he  had  a  paper  that  he  got  from  Swift,  and  that 
onct  he  and  this  boy  of  hisn  tried  to  locate  it,  but  they 
got  a  skeer  that  killed  the  old  man — he  died  two  three 
weeks  atter — and  this  boy  of  hisn  ain't  never  been  the 
same  sence," 

Goodwin  had  listened  eagerly  to  every  word  of  this. 


The  Chimney  Corner  71 

In  his  mind  something  began  to  form  that  promised 
much  larger  returns  than  the  scheme  at  which  he  was 
already  working.  "  Did  ye  say  that  was  at  the  falls 
of  the  Cumberland  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Right  thar,"  said  Daddy  Campbell. 

"  That's  where  we've  bought  our  timber  land, 
Goodwin,"  said  Renfro.  "  Mebby  we've  got  some- 
thing better  than  to  raft  logs  from  there  down  the 
river." 

Goodwin  made  no  answer.  "  Hit's  time  for  me 
to  go,"  said  he.    "  I  got  to  take  a  ride  to-morrow." 

Daddy  Campbell  also  retired  early,  and  Mr.  Ren- 
fro and  Mr.  Buzbee  had  an  errand  to  the  Buzbee  house, 
as  it  was  to  be  to  get  something  which  Mrs.  Buzbee 
had  forgotten.  Mrs.  Renfro  and  Barbara  were  left 
alone  before  the  fire. 

"  He  is  a  very  singular  man,"  said  Barbara. 

"  Who — Goodwin  ?  He's  a  snake !  Eh,  is  he ! 
He's  got  some  idy  about  that  silver.  He's  goin'  over 
thar  to-morrow  and  pester  that  dyin'  old  man,  that's 
what  he's  goin'  to  do!  I  wisht  Mr.  Renfro  wouldn't 
have  nothing  to  do  with  him,  that's  what  I  wisht !  " 

Barbara  felt  the  same.  Some  uncanny  influence 
seemed  to  attach  itself  to  the  man.  And  a  certain  fas- 
cinating horror  seemed  to  hang  about  the  story  of  the 
abandoned  mine. 

"  Tell  me  about  Daddy  Campbell,"  said  Barbara. 

"  Well,  that's  a  quare  tale,  too.  I  reckon  hit's  too 
long  to  tell  to-night,  and  you  that  tired." 

"  Oh,  no,  tell  me,"  said  Barbara. 

"  He's  been  conjured,"  said  Mrs.  Renfro.  "  That's 
why  he  cyan't  die." 

"Conjured?"  asked  Barbara.     "By  whom?" 


72  Pine  Knot 

"  By  a  slave  woman.  He  sold  her  baby.  Hit  was 
hisn,  too.  That  was  more'n  seventy  year  ago.  No- 
body don't  tell  it  on  him  no  more.  But  I've  heerd  it 
often  years  ago,  how  his  wife  hated  the  slave  woman 
and  her  baby,  and  wouldn't  give  him  no  peace  till  he 
sold  the  little  feller  down  the  river.  The  nigger  wom- 
an cursed  him  then,  but  she  died  atter  awhile,  and, 
dying,  she  cursed  him  with  a  conjure  curse — slapped 
him  in  the  face  with  her  two  bloody  hands  and  cursed 
him  to  live  till  he  was  a  hundred  years  old,  and  bear 
his  curse  ever'  day.  She  cursed  his  own  children  to 
scatter  and  die,  and  him  to  live  and  repent." 

"  It  is  dreadful !  "  said  Barbara.  "  Yet  it  interests 
me.    Tell  me  all  about  it,  please." 

So  Mrs.  Renfro  told  the  story,  in  the  chimney  cor- 
ner, of  the  black  Hagar  and  her  curse  that  had  con- 
demned Daddy  Campbell  to  live  on,  a  sad  and  peni- 
tent old  man  and  a  pauper.  Mrs.  Renfro  began  back 
with  the  selling  of  the  child  from  the  home  over  on  No 
Bus'ness  Creek,  to  appease  the  wrath  of  Campbell's 
wife. 

The  black  Hagar  had  pleaded  to  be  sold  with  her 
baby  if  the  child  must  go,  but  Mrs.  Campbell  not  only 
valued  her  services,  but  sought  a  more  cruel  revenge, 
daily  twitting  her  husband  with  the  sin  which  she  took 
care  should  not  be  repeated,  and  daily  goading  the 
dark  but  comely  slave  with  a  woman's  petty  but  malig- 
nant persecutions.  Already  she  had  borne  her  hus- 
band three  children,  and  was  about  to  bear  a  fourth ; 
and  when  the  baby  came  Hagar  watched  her  mistress 
with  a  tenderness  that  had  as  yet  learned  only  sorrow 
and  not  revenge.  She  had  cursed,  indeed,  when  her 
baby  was  torn  from  her,  but  it  was  the  resentful  curse 


The  Chimney  Corner  73 

of  an  acute  sorrow,  and  not  the  curse  of  a  long-cher- 
ished bitterness.  But  that  same  curse  she  repeated 
and  distilled  in  more  of  her  soul's  deep  venom  as  the 
years  went  by,  and  repeated  at  last  under  circum- 
stances of  peculiar  horror. 

For,  once  recovered,  Mrs.  Campbell  had  found  a 
new  occasion  of  jealousy  in  the  love  that  existed  be- 
tween her  own  babe  and  its  slave  nurse.  The  slave 
cherished  her  mistress's  child  as  in  some  sort  a  compen- 
sation for  the  loss  of  her  own,  and  while  she  never 
smiled  after  the  day  that  her  own  child  was  taken  from 
her,  she  had  a  kind  of  fierce  joy  in  the  possession  of 
this  little  one,  and  secretly  gloried  in  the  fact  that  the 
child  loved  her  more  than  its  own  mother. 

Then  the  mother  tore  the  baby  from  her,  ordered 
her  from  its  presence,  hastened  to  thrust  herself  be- 
tween the  two  if  at  any  time  the  little  creeper  started 
for  her,  and  to  snatch  him  if  he  cried  after  her.  It  was 
for  this,  the  neighbors  believed,  that  Hagar  conjured 
the  child,  and  it  died.  They  did  not  know  at  the  time 
that  he  was  conjured,  but  later  they  were  sure  of  it. 
But  if  indeed  the  fault  was  Hagar's  there  was  no  more 
passionate  mourner  at  the  little  grave  than  the  black 
woman,  who  went  there  nightly  to  pour  out  her  heart- 
broken sobs  above  the  little  mound  where,  in  her 
thought,  her  two  babies  lay  buried — the  white  child 
that  had  died  in  his  mother's  arms  (and  Hagar  had 
been  shut  out  of  the  room)  and  the  mulatto  boy  that 
had  been  sold  down  the  river  and  was  thrice  dead 
to  her. 

For  four  years  more  the  bitterness  continued,  and 
John  Campbell  had  never  known  a  happy  day.  Yet 
as  the  fourth  year  drew  to  a  close  he  had  hope  again. 


74  Pine  Knot 

but  it  was  a  hope  that  went  out  in  a  horror  that  had 
been  his  nightmare  since.  Another  child  was  born  to 
him,  a  daughter,  and  so  ill  was  his  wife  that  she  forgot 
her  hatred  in  her  weakness,  and  found  comfort  in  the 
nursing  of  Hagar.  The  child  was  three  days  old,  and 
was  lying  at  its  mother's  breast,  and  the  mother  light 
was  in  the  weak  eyes  that  looked  down  upon  the  little 
head;  every  cruel  thought  was  absent,  as  for  three 
days  it  had  been,  when  she  looked  up  and  saw  Hagar 
looking  down  upon  the  little  one  with  eyes  so  hungry 
and  pitiful  that  in  a  moment  it  all  came  back.  With 
bitter  reproaches  and  many  vile  names  she  shrieked 
to  the  slave  woman  to  leave  her  side  and  never  to  come 
near  her  or  the  child  again.  In  that  moment  there 
rushed  into  the  black  soul  all  the  shame  and  sorrow 
and  pent-up  revenge  that  had  been  harbored  there. 
With  the  cry  of  a  tigress  she  fell  upon  the  infant  and 
tore  it  limb  from  limb,  and  then — for  it  took  only  an 
instant — she  fell  upon  the  mother  and  choked  her  to 
death.  In  fearful  horror  she  fled  from  the  presence  of 
her  awful  crime — fled  damning  herself  to  the  lowest 
hell  for  the  sin  that  she  had  done,  yet  gloating  savagely 
over  the  fearful  vengeance  that  had  been  hers. 

Ah,  but  the  hounds  were  on  her  track,  and  she 
led  them  a  weary  chase  through  glade  and  swamp,  and 
over  mountain  and  field.  And  the  men  rode  hard  be- 
hind the  hounds.  Two  days  they  followed  her,  now 
losing  the  trail  where  she  walked  in  the  water,  now 
put  to  confusion  where  she  doubled  on  her  own  track, 
but  ever  relentlessly  following,  and  John  Campbell 
rode  with  the  hunters  that  followed  the  bloodhounds. 

They  found  her  at  last  in  a  tree,  and  the  dogs  were 
barking  about  her.     They  could  not  see  her  at  first, 


The  Chimney  Corner  75 

and  doubted  if  the  dogs  had  not  lost  the  trail  and  fol- 
lowed an  animal.  They  gathered  under  the  tree ;  it 
was  twilight,  and  they  peered  into  the  thick  branches 
and  called  for  a  light.  It  was  then  that  she  sprang 
down,  when  John  Campbell  stood  just  below  her,  and 
as  she  sprang  she  drove  her  keen  knife  hard  into  his 
shoulder,  and  a  thousand  times  he  mourned  that  she 
missed  his  heart. 

They  shot  her  as  she  struck,  and  the  two  lay  side 
by  side  beneath  the  tree.  They  drew  the  knife  from 
his  wound,  and  let  her  alone  to  die  while  they  cared 
for  him. 

John  Campbell  raised  himself  on  his  elbow  and 
looked  at  the  woman  who  had  struck  him.  "  I  shall 
not  die,"  said  he  to  his  companions ;  "  my  wound  bleeds 
freely,  but  I  shall  live."  Then  he  looked  at  the  dying 
slave,  some  said  in  hatred,  and  others  said  in  pity,  and 
one  or  two  believed  in  love. 

One  of  her  hands  was  wet  in  his  blood  and  the 
other  she  wet  in  her  own.  With  her  dying  strength 
she  raised  herself  and  smote  him  on  the  one  cheek 
and  the  other,  and  fell  back,  crying : 

"  Yes,  live !  Live  to  be  a  hundred  years  old ! 
May  you  see  your  own  children  scatter  and  die,  and 
may  God's  curse  follow  you !  " 

John  Campbell  had  lost  standing  with  his  neigh- 
bors when  he  sold  the  slave  child.  No  Bus'ness  was 
in  a  part  of  the  country  that  hated  a  slave  trader ;  per- 
haps there  was  no  other  man  who  was  not  welcome 
to  a  night's  shelter  on  the  creek;  and  they  disap- 
proved the  man  who  would  buy  a  slave  that  broke  a 
family,  or  sell  one  except  from  necessity  or  to  keep 
households  together.    For  years  after  his  wife's  death 


76  Pine  Knot 

no  neighbor  crossed  his  threshold.  He  walked  alone 
among  his  fellow-men  as  did  the  lepers  of  old,  and 
all  knew  that  he  was  living  under  a  curse.  One  by 
one  his  children  left  him.  Two  died  in  childhood; 
one,  a  son,  was  shot  on  a  Mississippi  steamboat ;  and 
the  daughter  that  left  home  died  far  away,  and  after  a 
life  of  shame.  And  then  for  fifty  years  more  he  had 
lived  the  loxieliest  man  that  ever  walked  the  earth. 
For  half  of  this  time  he  lived  apart  and  cared  for  him- 
self. But  sickness  came  upon  him.  White  swelling 
left  him  helpless  and  old.  His  property,  already  sadly 
diminished,  was  soon  exhausted,  and  Daddy  Campbell, 
as  he  now  came  to  be  called,  was  a  pauper. 

They  had  no  poorhouse  in  Whitley  County,  and 
Daddy  Campbell  was  for  years  the  only  person  "  on 
the  county."  They  farmed  him  out  by  the  year,  pay- 
ing a  pitiful  sum  to  any  one  who  would  take  him.  At 
first  it  was  with  contempt,  but  even  then  with  some- 
thing of  pity,  that  he  who  had  lived  a  hermit  was  re- 
ceived into  human  habitations.  But  as  the  years 
went  by  the  contempt  vanished,  and  something  of 
reverence  mingled  with  the  pity.  The  sad,  patient, 
suffering  old  man  somehow  came  to  receive  a  sort  of 
veneration,  as  one  who  by  years  of  suffering  had  ob- 
tained absolution,  and  through  the  very  extremity  of 
his  sin  found  more  of  grace.  The  face  that  had  looked 
hunted  and  pinched  and  accursed  came  to  have  a  trans- 
figured look,  as  if  from  a  patience  that  had  had  her 
perfect  work  and  a  peace  that  followed  a  storm-swept 
life  that  had  been  rocked  between  the  billows  of  the 
mightiest  emotions  and  nov/  was  calm. 

Seated  in  the  crude  little  cart  which  his  own  hands 
had  fashioned,  and  into  which  he  was  lifted  every  day, 


The  Chimney  Corner  *]*] 

he  made  his  way  slowly  up  and  down  among  the  neigh- 
bors, welcomed  by  young  and  old,  but  held  especially 
dear  by  the  children.  It  was  as  beautiful  as  it  was 
pathetic  to  see  him  among  them.  They  knew  not 
the  bitter  past,  and  their  parents  were  trying  to  forget 
it.  They  had  long  since  ceased  to  tell  it,  save  in  pity, 
and  they  ran  at  his  shout  to  lift  his  cart  over  the  bars 
or  to  push  behind  as  he  wheeled  it  upon  the  punch- 
eoned  porch,  and  they  made  a  wide  place  at  the  table 
where  his  cart  might  stand  among  the  children  at  meal- 
time. 

"  And  he  has  been  a  pauper  all  these  years  ? " 
asked  Barbara. 

"  I  wouldn't  like  to  say  pauper,"  said  Mrs.  Renfro. 
"No  person  don't  count  him  a  burden.  He  kin  use  his 
hands  right  smart,  though  his  laigs  is  shriveled  and 
twisted  up.  He  digs  out  wooden  bowls  and  trenchers, 
and  he  mends  cheers  and  a  heap  of  things.  Folks 
likes  to  have  have  him  come,  and  the  money  the 
county  pays  for  him  gits  less  and  less  ever'  year.  I've 
plumb  forgot  who  gits  it  this  year.  It's  divided 
among  several,  and  he  sorter  boards  round.  Here 
comes  your  pa  and  Mr.  Renfro.  I  reckon  I've  plumb 
tired  you  out  with  my  long  stories.  Hit's  time  to 
lay  down  now." 


CHAPTER  VII 

TWENTY  DOLLARS  A  MONTH 

"  And  this,  my  dear,  is  our  home." 

It  was  the  second  Sunday  morning,  and  the  Buz- 
bees  had  had  their  first  meal  in  their  own  home.  They 
had  seen  no  ghost,  nor  had  any  untoward  event  oc- 
curred save  the  message  of  James  Fletcher,  which  Mr. 
Buzbee  had  passed  unheeding. 

"  A  mere  irritable  and  thoughtless  word  from  a 
disgruntled  applicant  for  the  school,"  he  said.  "  I  am 
sorry  that  my  coming  should  be  a  disappointment  to 
any  one.  I  must  see  him  and  explain  how  important 
this  work  is  to  my  cause." 

Saturday  night  they  had  moved  over  from  the 
Renfros'.  The  house  had  been  swept  and  garnished, 
and  was  supplied  with  provisions  for  immediate  needs. 
Some  little  had  been  done  by  way  of  repairs ;  not,  how- 
ever, at  the  expense  of  Peleg  Goodwin,  but  under  his 
direction  and  by  voluntary  labor  contributed  by  a 
number  of  the  men  of  the  district,  who  patched 
the  roofs  both  of  the  teacher's  house  and  the  school- 
house  and  made  some  simple  improvements  besides 
that  involved  labor  only  and  no  expenditure  of 
money. 

"  Yes,  this  is  our  home,"  said  Mrs.  Buzbee,  "  and, 
78 


Twenty  Dollars  a  Month  79 

humble  as  it  is,  I  rejoice  in  it.  It  is  so  long  since  we 
have  been  together  under  our  own  roof." 

"  Yes,  and  we  have  worked  at  a  disadvantage. 
This  home,  dear  as  it  will  be  for  domestic  reasons, 
will  become  still  dearer  because  of  the  work  which  I 
hope  to  accomplish  here." 

A  slight  shadow  crossed  the  face  of  Mrs.  Buzbee. 
"  The  work,  I  know,  is  important,  but  I  hope  that  we 
may  now  give  a  little  thought  to  our  own  need  and 
comfort." 

"  Comfort,  my  love,  except  as  we  have  it  in  con- 
sciousness of  doing  our  duty,  I  fear,  will  never  come  to 
us.     But  something  better  will." 

"  Father,"  said  Barbara,  "  how  are  we  to  live  here  ? 
When  you  told  us  that  you  had  a  position  as  teacher, 
with  assured  salary,  I  did  not  ask  you  how  much,  for  I 
did  not  want  to  seem  curious.  Since  coming  here  and 
seeing  the  poverty  of  the  people  I  do  not  see  how  they 
can  afiford  to  pay  a  teacher  much." 

"  They  do  not  pay,  my  child.  The  pay  is  received 
from  the  State  school  fund." 

"  How  much  is  the  school  fund,  father  ?  " 

*'  The  school  fund,  my  dear,  consists  of  $1,326,770, 
invested  mostly  in  five-per-cent  bonds,  beside  a  five- 
cent  tax  on  every  hundred  dollars'  worth  of  property." 

"  And  we  get  all  that  ?  " 

"  Preposterous,  my  child !  We  get  the  proportion 
which  comes  to  Pine  Knot  per  capita.  That  is,  at  the 
rate  of  about  sixty-two  and  one  half  cents  per  scholar 
of  school  age.  Pine  Knot,  having  ninety-seven  schol- 
ars, will  receive  a  gross  amount  of  sixty-one  dollars 
and  sixty-three  cents." 

"Per  month?" 


8o  Pine  Knot 

"  No,  no.  For  three  months.  That  is  what  makes 
the  school  so  desirable.  In  the  more  prosperous  por- 
tions of  the  State  the  public  money  is  increased  by 
local  taxation.  That  is  quite  out  of  the  question  here. 
If  there  are  one  hundred  scholars  or  more,  there  must 
be  a  five  months'  school.  Three  more  pupils  would 
compel  me  to  teach  five  months  instead  of  three,  and 
for  practically  the  same  amount.  Ours  is  a  very  fortu- 
nate condition,  my  child." 

"  Then  this  is  the  sum  over  which  men  are  break- 
ing their  hearts — this  princely  salary  of  twenty  dollars 
a  month?  "  asked  Mrs.  Buzbee. 

"  I  am  most  sorry,  my  dear,  if  any  one  is  breaking 
his  heart  about  it.  I  will  cheerfully  explain  to  any 
who  are  disappointed.  There  must  be  not  one,  but 
many.  It  is  unfortunate  that  our  successes  in  life  do 
thus  involve  the  disappointment  of  others.  I  grieve 
that  it  must  be  so ;  indeed,  I  do  not  think  that  I  could 
accept  it  if  it  were  not  that  it  gives  us  leverage  for  our 
great  work." 

"  And  what  do  we  pay  for  the  rental  of  this  miser- 
able old  shanty  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Buzbee. 

"  Don't,  mother,  dear,"  said  Barbara.  "  Do  not 
speak  so  of  our  home.  Poor  as  it  is,  let  us  make  it 
beautiful  with  our  love  and  sympathy.  Yes,  let  us 
idealize  it,  if  need  be." 

"  You  are  right,  my  child.  But,  oh,  it  is  hard 
to  idealize  poverty  such  as  we  must  face!  I  had  no 
idea  that  we  had  so  meager  an  income  to  depend 
upon." 

"  We  pay  only  two  dollars  a  month,  my  dear ! " 
said  Mr.  Buzbee. 

"  For  twelve  months  ?  " 


Twenty  Dollars  a  Month  8i 

"  Certainly." 

"  And  out  of  a  gross  income  of  sixty  dollars !  " 

"  That,  my  dear,  is  counted  a  large  sum  here." 

It  was  indeed  so  counted. 

It  was  by  an  arrangement  with  the  adjacent  county 
of  Tennessee  that  so  large  a  sum  was  possible,  for  some 
of  these  children  were  over  the  line,  and  all  were 
counted  as  in  Kentucky.  To  make  up  for  this  an 
equal  number  of  Kentucky  children  on  No  Bus'ness, 
where  the  school  was  taught  in  Tennessee,  were 
counted  as  living  in  the  latter  State.  It  was  thus  the 
result  of  a  peculiarly  favorable  set  of  conditions 
that  Mr.  Buzbee  had  come  to  his  twenty  dollars  a 
month. 

The  sum  seemed  great  to  the  district  and  a  fortune 
to  John  Howard  Buzbee,  who  thought  of  the  sixty  dol- 
lars in  a  lump,  and  estimated  it  as  though,  having  it  all 
at  once,  he  would  have  it  throughout  the  school  term 
and  for  nine  months  thereafter.  He  had  not  often  han- 
dled sixty  dollars  of  late.  But  Mrs.  Buzbee  and  Bar- 
bara, when  they  came  to  know  in  detail  the  terms  of 
the  teaching  contract,  looked  each  other  in  the  face  in 
blank  amazement,  and  then  in  despair,  till  Barbara  saw 
the  funny  side  of  it  and  burst  into  a  laugh. 

"  Sixty  dollars,  for  three  months !  As  we  have  no 
other  assured  income  and  must  pay  our  expenses  for 
the  year,  twenty-four  dollars  will  go  for  rent,  and — 
help  me  with  my  arithmetic,  father — thirty-six  dollars 
will  remain  for  food,  clothing,  and  your  tracts " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  my  daughter,"  interrupted  her  fa- 
ther, "  we  must  contrive,  however  small  our  income,  to 
save  a  little  for  tracts." 

"  Thirty-six  dollars !     A  dollar  a  month  apiece ! 


82  Pine  Knot 

How  shall  I  ever  spend  it  ?  "  And  Barbara  laughed, 
a  merry,  but  half-ironic  laugh. 

"  It  is  doubtless  small,"  conceded  her  father,  "  but 
our  expenses  of  living  will  be  small.  Eggs  are  but 
six  cents  a  dozen.  Corn  meal  is  but  thirty  cents  a 
bushel,  and  flour,  which  is  coarse  indeed,  but  still  is 
the  more  wholesome,  is  but  fifty." 

"  And  meat " 

"  As  for  meat,  we  are  the  better  without  it.  In- 
deed, I  am  now  studying  a  method  of  dieting  which 
will  enable  us  to  live,  not  only  without  using  the  prod- 
ucts of  slave  labor,  such  as  cotton,  molasses,  and 
rice " 

"  Except  the  mountain  sorghum,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes,  and  that  will  take  the  place  of  sugar." 

"  Think  of  it,  mother,  dear,  sorghum  in  your  after- 
dinner  coffee,  served  in  the  two  little  Dresden  chinas  I 
have  in  my  trunk  !  " 

"  My  dear,"  said  her  mother,  "don't;  pray,  don't. 
I  am  in  despair." 

"  Very  well,  father,  what  else  ?  I  will  be  good,  and 
if  at  first  I  don't  succeed,  I'll  try,  try  again !  " 

"  As  I  was  remarking,"  said  her  father,  not  in  the 
least  tried  by  the  interruption,  "  I  am  involved  in  a 
plan  which  I  hope  to  make  plain,  first  to  myself  and 
then  to  the  world,  by  which  we  may  avoid,  first  the 
use  of  slave  products,  and  then  the  use  of  all  articles 
^  which  involve  the  murdering,  enslaving,  or  robbing  of 
dumb  animals." 

"  Well,  father,  and  what  will  you  leave  us  to  eat  and 
wear?  " 

"  I  do  not  claim  as  yet  to  have  developed  the 
theory  consistently.     I  spoke  of  eggs.     Technically, 


Twenty  Dollars  a  Month  83 

my  theory  would  exclude  them,  as  involving  either 
slavery,  robbery,  or  murder,  or  perhaps  all." 

"  O  father,  I  shall  be  in  State's  prison  before  sup- 
per time  at  this  rate !  " 

"  But  even  if  the  theory  be  fully  carried  out,  we 
shall  not  suffer.  We  shall  live  upon  corn,  wheat,  nuts, 
fruit,  maple  sugar,  sorghum,  oil  of  the  cotton  seed, 
which  is  far  more  wholesome  than  lard " 

"But  cotton,  father,  is  a  product  of  slave  labor." 

"  My  child,  by  the  time  the  world  is  ready  to  adopt 
this  theory  there  will  be  no  human  slavery." 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,  father.  The  millennium 
will  be  well  advanced  by  that  time.  But  as  for  our 
clothes  ?  " 

"  Cotton,  when  that  is  freed  from  the  incubus  of 
slavery;  paper,  which  civilization  will  surely  come  to 
use  more  and  more ;  straw  of  different  grades  and  corn 
husks,  for  hats  of  different  kinds ;  and,  most  of  all,  flax 
— the  blue-flowered,  hand-wrought  flax — a  small  field 
of  which,  easily  within  the  care  of  a  man  using  only  his 
own  arms  with  hoe,  and  flail,  and  break,  and  a  woman 
with  spinning  wheel  and  loom,  will  clothe  a  family  in 
comfort,  aye,  with  the  vesture  of  kings ;  for  with  native 
dyes  it  may  be  of  varied  hue.  The  meanest  man  that 
lifts  his  head  in  self-respecting  manhood  may  lift  his 
hands  guiltless  of  blood  or  the  spoil  of  his  fellow-men 
or  the  dumb  animals  about  him  and  stand  clothed  not 
only  in  purple  and  fine  linen,  but  clad  also,  as  Solomon 
in  all  his  glory  was  not  clad,  in  innocence  and  right- 
eousness." 

It  was  thus  that  John  Howard  Buzbee  mingled  his 
chimerical  visions  with  prophetic  insight,  and  from 
shallow  and  impractical  reasoning  rose  in  the  joy  of 


84  Pine  Knot 

argument,  and  the  warmth  which  argument  always 
brought  to  him,  into  something  Uke  eloquence.  Bar- 
bara ceased  to  laugh,  and  looked  at  her  father.  There 
he  stood  in  the  simplicity  of  his  childlike  soul,  that  at 
threescore  years  was  guileless  as  in  infancy,  a  simplic- 
ity that  caused  his  daughter  many  a  merry  laugh  at  his 
inconsequentiality,  his  hopeless  inability  to  cope  with 
the  problems  of  life,  and  Barbara  looked  at  him  and 
loved  him.  He  was  impractical,  he  was  visionary,  but 
he  was  learned,  eloquent,  unselfish,  and  without  fear 
or  reproach.  He  had  met  the  world  at  its  worst,  and 
was  not  blackened  by  its  pitch,  nor  soured  by  its  re- 
buffs, nor  made  hateful  by  its  hatred.  He  stood  in  the 
rough,  almost  uninhabitable  cabin  on  the  Sunday  be- 
fore the  school  began,  dressed  in  his  best,  which  was 
so  poor  and  plain,  but  he  looked  a  gentleman,  every 
inch,  and  her  heart  went  out  to  him.  She  flung  her- 
self into  his  arms,  kissed  him  again  and  again,  crying : 

"  O  father,  father !  My  dear,  dear,  lovely,  loving 
father !  Forgive  me  for  laughing  at  you,  and  annoy- 
ing you  with  my  arguments.  I'm  not  good  enough  to 
understand  you,  father,  and  the  world  is  not  good 
enough.  You're  a  dear,  dear,  impractical,  visionary 
old  dreamer,  so  the  world  thinks ;  but  you're  the  dear- 
est, truest,  bravest,  kindest  man  that  ever  lived,  and 
I'm  proud  of  you,  father ;  I'm  proud  of  you !  " 

Mrs.  Buzbee,  too,  drew  near  and  kissed  him,  cry- 
ing as  she  did  so :  "  Yes,  John,  yes,  we  do  love  you, 
even  if  we  don't  always  understand  you,  and  we  will 
love  you  and  help  you  till  we  succeed  or  starve  to- 
gether." 

Mr.  Buzbee  turned  first  to  one  and  then  to  the 
other,  responding  to  their  caresses  in  a  dazed  sort  of 


Twenty  Dollars  a  Month  85 

fashion,  and  said,  as  he  disposed  of  Mrs.  Buzbee  on  a 
chair  and  released  himself  from  the  caresses  of  Bar- 
bara :  "  Why,  my  dears,  of  course  you  love  me !  I 
know  that  very  well.  This  is  very  delightful,  though 
I  don't  quite  see  the  occasion  that  prompts  it  at  this 
moment.  As  to  laughing  at  me,  Barbara,  I  never  sus- 
pected that  you  were  laughing  at  me,  but  you  are  quite 
welcome  to  do  so,  my  child,  if  it  affords  you  pleasure. 
And,  as  to  not  understanding  me,  I  thought  I  was  un- 
usually lucid.  Let  me  go  over  those  points  at  a  little 
greater  length.  I  am  sure  that  I  can  make  it  plain  to 
you." 

"  Oh,  no,  father,  don't !  "  said  Barbara.  "  We  are 
too  stupid.  There  is  only  one  thing  that  we  need  to 
understand,  and  that  we  do  understand  more  and  more 
every  day,  that  you  are  the  best  and  dearest  father  in 
the  world." 

It  was  thus  that  John  Howard  Buzbee  met  the 
world,  shrinking  from  its  rare  caresses,  disclaiming  its 
few  well-merited  kind  words,  laboring  patiently  to 
make  his  position  clear,  and  never  doubting  that  its 
thoughtless  laughter  at  his  expense  was  prompted  by 
a  harmless  joy  of  its  own,  which,  while  he  did  not 
share,  he  did  not  grudge.  But  the  little  outbreak  of 
demonstrative  affection  which  followed  the  sad  discov- 
ery of  their  pitiful  outlook  did  all  good.  It  cheered 
Mr.  Buzbee  to  be  reminded  that  his  wife  and  daughter 
loved  him  and  trusted  him,  even  though  he  could  not 
understand  why  they  should  have  supposed  it  neces- 
sary to  tell  him  so.  And  it  put  a  curb  upon  Barbara's 
somewhat  tantalizing  laughter,  and  her  mother's  quiet 
but  complaining  anxiety.  So  it  was  from  a  happy, 
though  an  anxious  home,  that  John  Howard  Buzbee 


86  Pine  Knot 

went  forth  that  morning  to  attend  meeting  in  Pine 
Knot.  It  was  the  third  Sunday  in  the  month,  and  the 
regular  preaching  day.  Preachers  were  there — a  herd 
of  them — and  they  all  participated.  Mr.  Buzbee,  be- 
ing understood  to  be  "  a  public  brother,"  was  asked 
to  add  a  word  at  the  close,  and  was  said  to  have  given 
"  a  mighty  good  lecture,  but  hit  wa'n't  no  preach- 
ing." 

One  noticeable  thing  about  it  was  that  Jim  Fletch- 
er, who  should  have  been  there  to  preach,  did  not  ap- 
pear. Ominous  threats  from  him  were  quoted,  how- 
ever, as  the  men  sat  about  on  logs  outside  the  school- 
house. 

"  You  trustees  better  hit  the  turf  right  early  in  the 
morning  and  git  out  of  here,"  said  Neze  Post. 

"  What  for?  "  asked  Noel  Davis. 

"  Jim  Fletcher  allows  he's  goin'  to  have  a  finger 
in  the  pie." 

"  What's  he  got  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  Wall,  he  met  Jake  Trosper  t'other  night,  when  he 
was  on  his  way  to  No  Bus'ness,  an'  he  'lowed  that 
when  the  school  opened  to-morrow  he'd  be  thar  and 
take  a  hand.  Then  he  rode  on  to  Deck  Morgan's  old 
house,  whar  the  new  man  is  a-stayin' — that  was  mighty 
shifty  o'  you,  Peleg,  to  put  him  in  thar !  Daggon  me, 
if  I  had  a  room  to  my  hotel  like  that  old  hainted  house 
if  I  wouldn't  expect  to  see  the  Old  Boy  himself  with 
all  his  hoofs  and  horns  if  I  put  a  man  to  sleep  there! 
And  he  told  the  new  teacher,  so  I've  heerd,  that  one 
man's  curse  rested  on  that  roof  already,  and  another 
man's  was  on  the  schoolhouse  if  he  ever  undertook  to 
open  school." 

By  all  the  absence  of  Fletcher  was  considered  sig- 


Twenty  Dollars  a  Month  87 

nificant,  and  Noel  Davis  remembered  his  bitter  words 
in  front  of  the  store,  and  questioned  whether  it  would 
not  be  more  prudent  to  be  called  away  in  the  morning, 
and  to  let  the  other  trustees  open  the  school  and  sign 
the  contract  with  the  teacher. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE   MAKING   OF   A   PHILANTHROPIST 

Mrs.  Buzbee  and  Barbara  did  not  go  to  meeting 
that  Sunday  morning,  but  remained  to  make  prepara- 
tions for  their  simple  dinner,  and  to  enjoy  the  quiet 
of  their  own  home. 

"  Mother,"  said  Barbara,  "  I  wish  that  I  knew  my 
father." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Barbara?  " 

"  I  know  him,  of  course,  as  a  good,  true,  kind  man, 
a  man  of  talent  and  of  education,  and  I  know,  too,  his 
hobby.  When  I  think  of  him  in  that  way,  I — forgive 
me,  mother,  I  almost  pity  him,  and  feel  like  making 
apologies  for  him.  And  then  again  I  am  so  proud  of 
him !  After  all,  mother,  I  do  not  know  him  very  well, 
you  know.  He  has  been  gone  from  us  so  much.  I 
have  sometimes  wanted  to  ask  you  something, 
mother." 

"What  is  it,  dear?" 

"  I  have  wondered  how  you  came  to  marry  fa- 
ther." 

"  You  know  the  story  in  part  ?  " 

"  Just  enough  so  that  I  want  to  know  it  all.     Begin 
at  the  beginning,  and  tell  me.     Tell  me  about  his  fa- 
ther, and  all  that." 
88 


The  Making  of  a  Philanthropist        89 

"  I  think  that  you  know  the  most  of  it,  but  I  will 
tell  you  what  I  know.  Your  father's  father,  you  know, 
my  dear,  was  a  minister  in  Virginia.  He  came  of  the 
old  families,  and  was  a  good  and  honored  man.  It 
was  not  in  his  pulpit  that  he  was  greatest,  but  in  his 
philanthropy." 

"  I  have  heard  about  his  work  among  the  prisons." 

"  That  was  one  of  his  special  hobbies.  *  I  was  sick 
and  in  prison,  and  ye  visited  me  '  was  his  great  text. 
It  was  that  which  caused  him  to  name  your  father 
after  his  ideal  philanthropist.  But  that  was  not  all  his 
work.  He  was  interested  in  the  destitute  in  the  new 
settlements,  in  the  work  of  the  Tract  Society,  in  the 
temperance  movement,  and  in  foreign  missions." 

"  He  owned  slaves  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  was  kind  to  them.  They  were  members 
of  his  own  church,  as  were  those  of  his  congregation. 
They  sat  in  the  same  church  house,  and  received  the 
communion  at  the  same  table,  after  the  white  people 
had  been  served.  This,  in  his  thought,  was  his  full 
duty  to  his  slaves.  None  of  them  ever  suflfered  for 
attention  or  were  treated  with  severity,  but  he  ac- 
cepted slavery  as  a  fact.  While  he  did  not  approve  it, 
he  did  not  feel  responsible  for  its  abolition,  and  set 
himself  about  philanthropy  in  other  directions.  He 
dedicated  your  father  to  the  work  of  philanthropy." 

"  That  was  rather  a  perilous  thing  to  do,  was  it 
not?" 

"  Yes,  for  most  men's  philanthropy  has  its  metes 
and  bounds,  and  the  son's  philanthropy  soon  came  to 
oppose  the  limitations  of  the  father's." 

"  Father  was  educated  in  the  North  ?  " 

"  At  Yale.     He  graduated  young,  and  led  his  class. 


90  Pine  Knot 

At  eighteen  he  began  studying  theology,  and  at 
twenty-one  had  finished  his  course.  But  he  had  read 
much  beside  theology,  and  had  become  a  radical  abo- 
litionist." 

"  That  was  not  rare  in  Virginia  in  his  youth, 
was  it  ?  " 

"  No,  it  was  very  common  at  that  time.  I  have 
heard  your  father  say  that  all  the  great  statesmen  of 
Virginia  in  that  day  were  abolitionists.  His  own  fa- 
ther was  one,  in  a  certain  sense — that  is,  he  would  have 
been  glad  to  see  universal  freedom,  but  he  did  not 
count  it  a  great  evil  as  it  then  existed  in  Virginia,  and 
thought  the  practical  difficulties  of  emancipation  too 
great  to  justify  any  aggressive  movement  toward  it." 

"  But  he  must  have  been  a  narrow,  bigoted  man." 

"  Not  quite  that.  He  disinherited  your  father,  to 
be  sure.  But  I  am  not  sure  that  your  father,  in  the 
first  enthusiasm  of  his  outspoken  conviction,  was  al- 
ways as  prudent  and  gentle  as  he  has  now  become. 
He  was  always  considerate,  always  a  gentleman,  but 
he  was  always  fearless  and  outspoken,  and  he  doubtless 
was  a  disappointment  to  his  father,  who  had  looked 
to  have  him  engage  in  what  he  counted  practical  phi- 
lanthropy, instead  of  a  quixotic  fighting  of  windmills, 
as  he  was  wont  to  express  it." 

"  I  know  about  his  disinheriting  father,  and  that 
sad  scene." 

"  Well,  then  he  came  to  East  Tennessee,  where 
Benjamin  Lundy  had  established  his  paper.  The  Gen- 
ius of  Universal  Emancipation,  first  at  Greenville  and 
afterward  at  Jonesboro.  Your  father  was  between 
twenty-one  and  twenty-two — he  was  born,  you  know, 
with  the  century — and  he  flung  himself  with  ardor  into 


The  Making  of  a  Philanthropist        91 

that  work.  It  is  the  memory  of  that  work  in  these 
mountains  that  has  always  inclined  him  to  come  back 
again." 

"  How  did  he  get  to  Baltimore  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Lundy  moved  the  paper  there.  Then  Mr. 
Lundy  went  to  Boston  and  met  William  Lloyd  Gar- 
rison." 

"  Was  Mr.  Garrison  then  in  antislavery  work  ?  " 

"  No,  he  was  editing  a  temperance  paper.  He  met 
Mr.  Lundy  at  Garrison's  boarding  house,  and  became 
a  convert." 

"  I  remember  about  that." 

"  Then  Mr.  Garrison  went  to  Baltimore,  and 
worked  with  Mr.  Lundy  on  the  paper  Your  father  at 
that  time  was  away  on  a  lecture  tour." 

"  Then  Mr.  Garrison  entered  into  the  work  with 
great  enthusiasm  ?  " 

"  Yes,  with  all  the  zeal  of  a  new  convert.  And  his 
editorials,  instead  of  being  kind  and  temperate,  like 
Lundy's  and  your  father's,  were  vehement  and  denun- 
ciatory. Mr.  Lundy  had  to  come  to  an  understanding 
with  him  at  once,  and  it  resulted  in  each  man  signing 
his  own  editorials  with  his  initials." 

"  But  that  did  not  save  the  paper  ?  " 

"  No,  Mr.  Garrison's  editorials  soon  caused  it  to  be 
broken  up.  Your  father,  in  common  with  many  of 
Mr.  Lundy's  friends,  thought  it  a  sad  thing  that  the 
work  of  so  many  years  should  have  been  ruined,  as 
they  thought,  needlessly." 

"  Still,  father  went  to  Boston  and  worked  with  Mr. 
Garrison  ?  " 

"  Yes,  though  always  dissenting  from  Mr.  Garri- 
son's methods.     It  became  apparent  in  time  that  they 


92  Pine  Knot 

could  not  agree.  Mr.  Garrison  was  an  avowed  seces- 
sionist; your  father  has  always  held  that  the  slavery 
question  is  in  the  widest  sense  a  national  question, 
and  must  be  settled  within  the  nation.  Mr.  Garrison 
uttered  most  bitter  words  against  the  Church ;  your 
father,  while  often  tried  with  the  indiflference  and  timid- 
ity of  the  Church,  has  yet  held  that  the  support  of  the 
Church  is  an  absolute  necessity." 

"  But  he  did  not  continue  to  preach  ?  " 

"  At  times  he  did,  and  at  times  he  stopped  entirely. 
He  came  to  bring  almost  everything  to  the  test  of  its 
relation  to  the  antislavery  work.  Yet,  while  this  may 
have  narrowed  him,  it  did  not  embitter  him,  and,  even 
toward  Mr.  Garrison,  whose  methods  he  came  so  thor- 
oughly to  distrust,  he  always  maintained  the  profound- 
est  charity." 

"  I  have  heard  him  say  that  it  was  a  great  pity  that 
Mr.  Garrison  ever  became  associated  with  the  conduct 
of  the  Genius." 

"  Yes,  but  he  said  that  without  bitterness.  The 
Genius  was  published  in  a  Southern  State,  and  had  a 
small  but  influential  Southern  patronage.  Beside  that, 
Lundy  traveled  the  whole  country  over,  and  had 
societies  formed  in  many  cities.  North  and  South,  at 
the  time  when  Mr.  Garrison,  editing  his  second  or 
third  paper,  had  done  nothing  to  show  where  he 
stood  on  the  slavery  question.  Your  father  felt  that 
it  was  wrong  for  him,  a  new  arrival  and  a  Northern 
man,  to  oppose  his  own  theory  of  the  conduct  of 
the  paper  to  that  of  the  men  who  had  from  the  be- 
ginning managed  it,  especially  when  the  change 
was  certain  to  wreck  the  paper,  which  was  not  his 
own." 


The  Making  of  a  Philanthropist        93 

"  Then,  he  felt,  did  he  not,  that  the  stamping  out  of 
Lundy's  paper  made  the  question  more  sectional  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  he  deplored  that.  For  the  antislavery 
sentiment  of  the  South  was  waning,  and,  while  they 
tolerated  Lundy's  paper,  they  were  quite  unwilling  to 
hear  such  words  as  Mr.  Garrison  had  to  say  hurled  at 
them  from  New  England." 

"And  then?" 

"  After  your  father  severed  his  relation  with  Mr. 
Garrison's  paper.  The  Liberator,  where  he  worked  for 
a  little  time,  he  thought  of  the  law  as  affording  him  his 
best  opportunity.  He  had  preached  now  and  then, 
but  his  preaching,  though  tender,  earnest,  and  eloquent, 
was  objected  to  by  many  because  of  his  views  on  slav- 
ery, so  he  turned  from  the  pulpit  and  studied  law, 
teaching  school  the  while.  As  a  teacher  he  was  a 
great  success,  being  versatile,  widely  read,  and  full  of 
an  enthusiasm  for  his  subject  which  always  captivated 
his  pupils.  In  the  classics  and  in  natural  science  he 
excelled,  and  in  literature  and  belles-lettres  he  was  ever 
at  home.  But  the  time  came  when  he  could  claim  ad- 
mission to  the  bar,  and  he  left  the  schoolroom  to  plead 
the  cause  of  the  slave  in  court." 

"  He  never  sought  general  practice,  did  he  ?  " 

"  No,  it  was  unpleasant  to  him,  and  so  the  law  itself 
became.  The  grasping,  haggling,  selfish  spirit  which 
he  found  in  the  courtroom  was  uncongenial.  He 
would  not  badger  witnesses  nor  seek  to  blind  juries. 
The  cases  for  which  he  cared  were  those  that  paid 
nothing,  and  where  he  had  hardly  thanks  for  his  pains. 
Yet  he  pleaded  the  cause  of  the  fugitive  slave  in  many 
courts,  and  with  eloquence,  though  seldom  with  suc- 
cess.    Disheartened,  he  turned  from  the  law  as  from 


94  Pine  Knot 

the  pulpit,  though  at  rare  intervals  in  recent  years  he 
has  sometimes  pleaded  and  sometimes  preached." 
"  It  was  then  he  came  to  Lexington,  was  it  not?  " 
"  Yes,  a  little  more  than  twenty  years  ago.  He 
was  teaching  again,  and,  as  ever,  he  was  a  success  in 
the  schoolroom.  Only  he  was  always  counted  im- 
practical and  visionary.  But  the  success  which  he 
might  have  achieved  he  always  frustrated  by  his  oppo- 
sition to  slavery." 

"  Yet  Henry  Clay  was  opposed  to  slavery  ?  " 
"  Yes,  and  hundreds  of  slaveholding  people. 
Slavery  in  Kentucky  and  in  all  the  border  States  was 
and  is  dying  of  its  own  weight,  but  social  reasons  and 
the  practical  difficulties  of  emancipation  made  and  still 
makes  opposition  to  definite  antislavery  work  intense. 
I  came  to  know  your  father  then,  and  loved  him.  My 
father  was  a  member  of  the  State  Senate,  as  you  know, 
a  proud,  hot-blooded  man.  He  and  your  father  never 
agreed,  and  I  think  my  father  disliked  him  more  be- 
cause he  never  got  angry,  as  my  father  did,  in  their 
discussions." 

"  And  then  I  know  about  your  marriage,  and  your 
leaving  home  and  all  that.     You  left  Lexington  ?  " 

"  Yes,  for  three  years.  They  were  years  of  trial, 
and  poverty,  and  privation.  A  part  of  the  time  we 
were  at  Danville  with  James  G.  Birney.  He  was  a 
Kentuckian,  you  know,  who  freed  his  slaves  in  1834, 
and  established  an  antislavery  paper.  But  for  two 
years  we  were  on  the  road.  We  traveled  far,  and  re- 
ceived little  for  our  labor,  your  father  lecturing  against 
slavery." 

"  And  then  Henry  Clay  called  you  back  ?  " 

"  Not  Henry,  but  Cassius  M.  Clay.     He  founded 


The  Making  of  a  Philanthropist        95 

his  True  American,  and  at  one  time  had  to  defend  his 
office  with  a  cannon,  and  had  all  his  men  armed." 

"  Did  father  go  armed  ?  " 

"  No,  But  he  was  not  a  noncombatant,  like  Mr. 
Garrison.  He  used  to  say  that  Mr.  Garrison  opposed 
fighting,  but  did  his  best  to  provoke  mob  violence, 
while  he,  who  believed  in  the  right  of  self-defense,  was 
the  true  friend  of  peace.  He  believed  that  he  had  a 
right  to  go  armed,  but  that  to  do  so  was  inexpedient 
and  likely  to  cause  trouble." 

"  You  must  have  trembled  for  him  in  those  days." 

"  Yes,  and  was  proud  of  him,  too.  He  was  so  fear- 
less, and  withal  so  far  from  blustering.  He  was  a  true 
knight  in  his  spirit." 

"  And  yet,  mother,  you  never  fully  agreed  with  his 
views  ?  " 

"  It  was  not  for  his  views  that  I  loved  him,  Bar- 
bara. And  in  these  years  when  we  have  lived  with- 
out servants  and  I  have  so  needed  help  I  have  some- 
times thought  that  I  knew  of  no  slave  so  poorly  re- 
warded for  his  toil  as  your  father ;  and  I  may  have 
said  sometimes  when  I  have  been  ill  and  impa- 
tient that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  enslavement  to  an 
idea.  But  I  have  always  admired  him,  yes,  and  loved 
him." 

"  And  he  has  loved  you  ardently." 

"  Yes,  and  yet  your  father  loves  his  cause  first 
and  dearest,  and  I  will  not  deny  that  there  have  been 
times  when  I  have  yearned  for  a  love  more  personal 
and  demonstrative  than  he  could  show.  But  when  I 
have  done  so  I  have  reproached  myself,  remembering 
that  his  love,  though  abstract,  is  so  true  and  strong 
and  tender." 


96  Pine  Knot 

"  I  am  sure  I  understand  you,  mother.  Father 
quarreled  with  Mr.  Clay  ?  " 

"  There  was  no  quarrel.  The  Mexican  War  came, 
and  Mr.  Clay,  though  disapproving  the  war  and  its 
purpose,  enlisted,  declaring  that  in  Kentucky  a  man 
to  succeed  in  public  life  must  have  a  military  record. 
Your  father  called  this  doing  evil  that  good  might 
come  of  it,  and  he  parted  from  Mr.  Clay.  Then  he 
studied  medicine." 

''  I  remember  about  that.  He  taught  again  while 
studying,  did  he  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  in  Louisville.  For  a  time  he  seemed  dis- 
couraged with  his  antislavery  work,  and  thought  that 
in  healing  the  sick  he  could  do  what  he  called  one 
man's  work  for  human  well-being." 

"  And,  oh,  I  remember  to  have  heard  how  devoted 
he  was  to  his  patients,  how  they  came  to  love  him  and 
to  trust  him !  " 

"  Yes,  but  they  were  very  few.  And  few  of  them 
could  pay.  And  because  few  could  pay  him,  the 
rest  did  not.  He  had  the  constant  humiliation  of  see- 
ing quacks  and  charlatans  prosper  while  he  was  in 
poverty.  Moreover,  he  came  to  feel  that  he  had  done 
wrong  in  leaving  the  platform,  and  that  duty  called 
him  to  public  work.  About  that  time  my  mother  was 
taken  sick." 

"  And  she  sent  for  you." 

"  Yes,  and  I  hastened  to  her  deathbed." 

"  Had  she  never  forgiven  you  while  you  were  in 
Lexington  ?  " 

"  No ;  and  because  we  were  so  near  we  seemed 
more  distant.  But  when  she  was  about  to  die,  she 
relented  and  longed  to  see  me  and  you.     She  loved 


The  Making  of  a  Philanthropist        97 

you  the  moment  she  saw  you,  and  forgave  me.  She 
left  a  provision  in  her  will  for  your  education,  and  a 
Httle  for  me  in  the  hands  of  my  father.  I  suppose  that 
we  have  long  since  spent  it.  I  never  knew  the  details 
about  it,  as  it  was  wholly  in  his  hands.  She  left  it  so 
because " 

"  Because  she  feared  father  would  use  it " 

"  She  feared  that  I  would  give  it  to  him,  and  she 
knew  how  he  would  use  it  if  it  were  his." 

"  And  so  we  went  to  grandpa's  ?  " 

"  Yes,  after  the  death  of  my  mother,  my  father 
could  not  bear  to  have  me  leave.  Your  father  was 
about  to  give  up  his  practice  and  go  into  the  field 
again,  and  it  was  arranged  that  I  should  stay  at  home 
and  take  care  of  father  and  you.  You  have  had  your 
education.  Father  has  been  more  than  a  father  to 
us  both.  But  you  know  your  father's  visits  have  never 
been  very  happy.  We  were  provided  for,  and  that  left 
him  free  to  devote  all  his  earnings,  which  were  never 
large,  to  his  work.  Indeed,  I  think  he  forgot  that  we 
required  money,  and  I  do  not  question  that  he  has 
thought  as  little  of  sending  money  to  us  as  of  spending 
money  for  himself.  It  was  well ;  we  have  lacked  for 
nothing.  We  have  had  one  purse  with  your  grand- 
father, who  has  given  to  us  unstintedly.  We  have 
never  been  so  comfortable  financially." 

"  But  we  have  not  been  comfortable  when  father 
and  grandpa  have  had  their  discussions." 

"  No,  and  for  a  long  time  they  avoided  controversy 
by  mutual  consent.  Your  father  came  home  but  once 
or  twice  a  year.  He  saw  you  growing  to  womanhood, 
and  loved  and  admired  you  more  and  more.  He  saw 
me,  with  health  broken  from  our  years  of  hardship, 


98  Pine  Knot 

cared  for  in  the  home  of  my  father,  and  then  he  went 
off  again,  a  year  longer,  perhaps,  writing  to  me,  almost 
daily,  letters  which  I  treasure,  and  pouring  out  his  own 
life  in  effort  for  others.  He  was  happy,  and  so  were 
we ;  though  we  wanted  him  with  us  we  felt  that  on  the 
whole  it  was  best." 

"But  this  last  time?" 

"  Men's  minds  are  getting  heated  now.  This 
presidential  campaign  is  driving  men  crazy.  Topics 
long  laid  aside  between  your  father  and  grandfather 
came  up.  Your  grandfather  grows  more  irritable  as 
he  grows  older,  and  he  was  never  a  patient  man.  And 
when  he  drove  your  father  from  the  house  there  was 
nothing  for  us  to  do  but  to  go  forth  with  him.  We 
stayed  till  your  father  sought  and  found  this  opening. 
It  was  all  that  he  could  find.  Turning  to  the  moun- 
tains as  the  place  where  summer  and  autumn  schools 
are  the  rule,  he  remembered  again  the  early  days  when 
he  worked  with  Lundy  here.  He  read  the  Knoxville 
Whig,  in  which  Mr.  Brownlow,  though  not  an  aboli- 
tionist, is  fighting  so  splendidly  for  the  idea  of  a  loyal 
sentiment  for  the  whole  united  nation.  And  so  we  are 
here.  It  seems  hard.  We  might  have  stayed  with 
father,  and  your  father  would  always  have  had  a  home 
to  come  to — which  is  all  that  he  needed — and  we  a 
permanent  home.  Father  will  not  live  for  many  years, 
and  he  would  not  have  left  us  unprovided  for.  You 
could  have  married  Boyd  Estill " 

"  Mother !  "  cried  Barbara,  her  cheeks  red. 

"  No  matter,  my  dear,  it  is  all  past  now." 

"  And  you  do  not  regret  it  ?  " 

"  No,  no.  If  I  seem  to  complain  it  is  because  it 
seems  so  needless,  and  we  were  so  happy.     If  only 


The  Making  of  a  Philanthropist        99 

men  could  agree  to  differ,  and  let  matters  rest!  I  do 
not  know  what  will  grow  out  of  this  terrible  discussion 
that  is  rending  homes  asunder.  Ours  is  not  the  only 
one,  nor  yet  the  saddest  one.  But  I  do  not  regret  it. 
When  your  father  came  and  went  as  he  chose,  and  was 
at  liberty  to  come  to  us,  it  was  in  some  sense  as  though 
he  was  with  us  all  the  time,  and  we  could  be  content  to 
stay  though  he  came  to  us  but  once  or  twice  a  year. 
But  when  he  was  driven  from  the  house,  Barbara,  all 
the  love  that  made  me  leave  father  and  mother  for  his 
sake  came  back  with  double  power,  and  I  would  have 
gone  with  him  to  the  stake.  If  I  complain,  it  is  my 
flesh  that  is  weak.  Barbara,  I  shall  never  be  well  again. 
Sometimes  I  am  impatient,  I  know.  But  what  I  have 
done  I  would  do  again  a  thousand  times." 

Barbara  had  been  sitting  on  the  rough  floor,  hold- 
ing her  mother's  hand  as  she  reclined  on  the  bed  and 
told  this  story.  She  rose  and  kissed  her  mother,  and 
said: 

"  God  bless  you,  mother !  I  would  have  done  the 
same.  And  we  will  stand  by  him,  and  help  him,  the 
dear,  brave  man,  even  if  we  can  not  always  understand 
him.  And  now,  mother,  I'll  put  the  kettle  on.  Even 
philanthropists  and  their  families  can  not  live  without 
eating." 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE   SURPRISE  AT   THE   SCHOOLHOUSE 

Bill  Blake,  the  chairman  of  the  board  of  trustees, 
slapped  the  log  side  of  the  schoolhouse  vigorously 
with  a  discarded  roof  board,  and  thus  made  known  the 
fact  that  school  had  "  took  up."  It  was  eight  o'clock 
on  Monday  morning,  and  the  trustees  had  demurred 
a  little  at  beginning  school  so  late  in  the  day,  averring 
that  a  teacher  ought  to  work  from  sun  to  sun  the  same 
as  other  men,  and  as  had  been  the  case  in  years  past ; 
but  that  question  had  been  settled,  and  the  contract 
had  been  signed  in  the  presence  of  a  goodly  number 
of  the  patrons  of  the  school,  whose  children  meantime 
scampered  about  the  building,  or  peered  through  the 
door,  or  played  at  "  bull  pen,"  if  they  were  boys,  or  at 
"  chickeny-chickeny-craney-crow,"  if  they  were  girls. 

The  seats  of  the  Pine  Knot  school  were  of  punch- 
eon, with  legs  that  were  driven  through  auger  holes. 
It  had  not  been  thought  necessary  to  saw  oflf  the  legs 
where  they  projected  through  the  bench.  The  pupils 
extemporized  desks  by  placing  their  feet  on  the  backs 
of  the  seats  in  front,  and  writing  on  their  knees. 

A  section  of  log  cut  out  on  either  side  made  a  win- 
dow, guiltless  of  glass,  and  the  lighting  and  ventilating 
spaces  were  greatly  increased  by  the  ample  cracks  be- 


The  Surprise  at  the  Schoolhouse      loi 

tween  the  logs,  and  the  door  stood  ever  open.  A  great 
fireplace  filled  one  end,  and  had  not  the  heating  con- 
tract involved  the  warming  of  a  considerable  adjacent 
portion  of  the  two  States  of  Kentucky  and  Tennessee 
as  they  then  were  supposed  to  lie  there  would  have 
been  no  trouble  in  keeping  warm.  There  was  not 
much  trouble  anyway  with  a  three  months'  school, 
which  would  be  over  before  the  weather  got  cold,  but 
the  theory  was  that  the  school  might  be  prolonged  by 
subscription. 

The  school  came  in,  the  girls  giggling  and  choos- 
ing seatmates  with  much  whispering  and  some  diffi- 
culty. The  boys  shambled  to  their  places,  the  big 
boys  crowding  their  way  to  the  seats  for  which  they 
cared,  and  the  little  boys  sitting  where  they  could.  A 
few  of  the  parents  sat  with  their  children,  and  more 
stood  up.  The  teacher  had  no  chair,  but  it  was  opined 
that  he  could  borrow  one  from  one  of  the  neighbors, 
A  barrel  did  service  as  a  desk.  Jake  Crawford  had 
contributed  that. 

After  the  school  came  in  Bill  Blake  had  another 
whispered  conference  with  the  other  trustees,  the  pur- 
pose of  which  was  to  manifest  to  the  crowd  now  as- 
sembled that  he  assumed  the  position  of  spokesman 
only  after  proper  urging.  Then  he  rose,  hitched  up 
his  galluses,  and  addressed  the  school : 

"  This  here  school  is  tuck  up,  and  Mr.  Buzbee  here 
is  goin'  to  keep  it.  He  ain't  the  teacher  we  was  lookin' 
for  at  one  time,  but  I  reckon  he's  as  good,  and  some 
thinks  he's  better.  One  thing  I  know.  We've  got  it 
from  headquarters  that  he's  the  lickin'st  teacher  they 
ever  had  over  where  he's  been  a-teachin',  and  if  you 
don't  look  out  he'll  take  a  hickory  to  you !  " 


I02  Pine  Knot 

Mr.  Blake  was  kneedeep  in  falsehood  here,  and 
only  indulged  in  this  sort  of  talk  by  way  of  moral 
support  to  the  new  teacher.  That  he  used  the  rod 
plentifully  was  taken  as  a  matter  of  course.  That  any 
fear  of  the  rod  in  his  hand  would  be  a  present  incite- 
ment to  righteousness,  and  be  justified  in  the  outcome, 
he  did  not  question.  So  the  barefaced  falsehood  was 
not  wholly  without  excuse.  Indeed,  Mr.  Blake  knew 
no  other  way  of  endeavoring  to  convey  a  proper 
warning. 

He  proceeded  :  "  This  teacher  is  a  heap  stouter  than 
he  looks,  and  a  heap  smarter,  too.  If  you  big  fellers 
that  thought  you  could  run  the  other  teacher  out  ever 
try  it  on  this  one,  you'll  get  what  you  got  before,  and 
worse,  now  I  can  tell  you.  He'll  bring  you  back  to 
taw.  Now,  we've  got  a  few  rules  from  the  trustees,  and 
the  teacher  can  make  his  own.  The  girls  is  to  take 
turns  sweeping  the  house.  Jest  git  ye  a  good  bunch 
of  papaw  bushes  and  pitch  in  every  noon  time.  Then, 
if  there  comes  a  cold  day  or  a  wet  one,  so's  you  need  a 
fire,  the  big  boys  is  to  cut  the  wood,  and  you  may  as 
well  see  to  gittin'  in  a  backlog  and  a  forestick  and 
some  pine  knots  while  hit's  dry.  Then  they's  another 
thing.  The  hogs  has  got  in  here,  and  they's  a  heap 
more  fleas  in  this  house  and  under  it  than  what  you'll 
need.  Now,  when  you  go  out  to-day  for  recess,  you 
jest  all  of  you  bring  in  a  big  bunch  of  pennyroyal  and 
drap  it  on  the  floor,  and  tromp  on  it  as  ye  go  back  and 
for'ards  to  class,  and  keep  that  up  till  the  fleas  is  gone. 
And  then  there  hain't  to  be  no  sparkin'  here  at  noon 
times,  nor  on  the  way  to  school  and  back ;  and  havin' 
said  that  to  the  gals,  I'll  say  this  to  the  boys,  that  they 
ain't  to  be  no  fighting,  not  unless  somebody  yells 


The  Surprise  at  the  Schoolhouse      103 

'  School-butter ! '  *  Now  we'll  make  up  the  roll,  and  I 
reckon  we  best  begin  with  the  strip  of  timber  we 
fetched  in  from  Dif^culty,  and  clean  out  that  branch 
first,  and  then  take  the  others  in  regular  order." 

*  "  School-butter."  To  any  who  have  known  the  conditions 
existing  in  backwoods  schools  it  is  unnecessary  to  explain  this 
phrase.  What  it  originally  meant,  if  indeed  it  meant  anything, 
the  writer  has  never  been  able  to  learn,  nor  to  obtain  a  reason- 
able explanation.  But  from  rural  Pennsylvania  to  Arkansas, 
and  even  in  parts  of  Indiana  and  Michigan,  it  was  known  as 
the  most  humiliating  insult,  and  one  certain  to  provoke  swift  re- 
venge. All  rules  against  fighting  stood  aside  in  favor  of  a  pur- 
suit of  the  person  who  called  the  word  to  the  school.  No  pupil, 
of  course,  unless  an  expelled  pupil,  would  thus  insult  the  school, 
for  it  was  the  school  as  a  whole  that  suffered  from  it ;  and  while 
the  teacher  did  not  commonly  join  in  the  pursuit  of  the  culprit, 
he  often  found  means  of  retribution  against  him,  especially  if  a 
former  pupil, 

Richard  Malcolm  Johnston  has  contributed  to  the  Annual 
Reports  of  the  Commissioner  of  Education  two  interesting 
papers  on  Early  Education  in  Middle  Georgia.  The  conditions 
there  described  are  practically  identical  with  those  that  the 
writer  has  himself  observed  in  the  mountain  schools  of  Kentucky 
and  Tennessee.     On  the  use  of  this  phrase  Mr.  Johnston  says : 

"  No  satisfactory  account  that  this  writer  has  heard  has 
ever  been  given  of  the  origin  of  this  notable  phrase  in  country 
schools.  Its  utterance  by  a  passer-by  in  tones  loud  enough  to 
be  heard  was  regarded  as  the  grossest  insult  that  could  be  per- 
petrated. The  utterer,  on  making  the  cry,  immediately  fled 
amain,  and  every  boy  rushed  from  the  house  in  pursuit  of  him. 
If  overtaken,  he  was  either  ducked  in  the  spring  branch  or,  his 
hands  and  feet  being  seized  by  four  of  the  stoutest  boys,  he  was 
bumped  against  a  tree  until  the  insult  was  avenged.  Seldom  a 
traveler  on  foot  dared  to  take  the  risk.  Even  a  horseman  was 
sometimes  overtaken  after  a  chase  of  several  miles  by  two  or 
more  who  came  to  school  on  horseback  mainly  for  the  purpose. 

"Some  persons  have  speculated  upon  the  phrase  having 
originated  from  that  of  '  I  am  your  school's  better.'     Whatever 


I04  Pine  Knot 

The  parents  present  as  called  upon  gave  the  names 
of  their  children,  and  the  other  children  gave  their  own 
names.  Some  gave  abbreviated  names,  as  Dan  and 
Sam  and  Bill,  and  others  gave  names  in  full,  as  Wil- 
liam Henry  Harrison  and  Julius  Csesar,  Widow 
Braniman  was  there,  at  the  head  of  a  long  and  very 
much  overcrowded  bench. 

"  Them's  all  your  gals,  be  they,  Mis'  Braniman?  " 
asked  Bill  Blake. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered ;  "  I've  had  sorter  bad  luck 
with  my  gals.  The  chimbley  fell  down  on  'em  and 
killed  all  but  nine !  " 

"  Dear  me,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Buzbee,  who  took 
but  little  part  in  the  organization  of  the  school,  "  how 
unfortunate ! "  But  all  the  others  understood  the 
characteristic  mountain  joke  about  the  widow's  nine 
daughters,  the  youngest  of  whom  was  five  and  the 
eldest  seventeen. 

The  making  of  the  roll  consumed  a  good  deal  of 
time,  and  the  discussion  which  followed  was  on  the 
method  of  classification,  a  matter  involving  some  diffi- 
culty, as  there  were  all  grades,  from  the  lowest  primary 
to  such  studies  as  might  be  pursued  by  young  men  and 
women,  and  while  there  were  a  few  nondescript  text- 
books, almost  the  only  one  of  which  there  were  two 
copies — and  of  that  there  were  at  least  sixty — was 
Webster's  Elementary  Speller,  known  in  mountain 
schools  as  The  Old  Blue-back.  Mr.  Buzbee  relieved 
the  trustees,  however,  by  saying  that  he  could  attend  to 
the  classification  alone. 

its  origin,  it  was  the  universal  custom  in  old-field  schools  to 
regard  it  an  insult,  and  attempt  was  made,  with  the  master's 
full  assent,  to  punish  it." 


The  Surprise  at  the  Schoolhouse      105 

The  work  of  registration  over,  Mr.  Buzbee  took  the 
school  in  charge,  saying: 

"  I  will  not  announce  any  rules  at  this  time  except 
that  each  pupil  is  to  seek  to  promote  the  welfare  of  the 
school  and  do  to  others  as  he  would  be  done  by.  You 
may  take  your  books  and  study  while  I  call  you  up 
one  by  one  and  assign  to  you  your  classes." 

There  was  a  shufifling  of  bare  feet  on  the  log  floor, 
a  pushing  and  a  sliding  along  benches,  and  then  the 
books  were  opened,  and  the  whole  school  began  to 
study,  each  one  conning  his  lesson  aloud,  and  in  a  tone 
that,  if  alone,  would  have  been  distinctly  audible 
throughout  the  room.  Such  was  the  fashion  in  the 
old-time  "  blab-school,"  and  the  teacher  was  wont  to 
insist  upon  a  loud,  clear  tone  as  an  evidence  that  the 
studying  was  being  faithfully  done.* 

*  Blab-schools  had  become  rare  when  the  writer  taught 
school  in  the  mountains  of  Kentucky  in  1881  and  following 
years.  Their  disappearance  was  rapid,  and  they  must  now  be 
almost  if  not  wholly  extinct.  At  one  time  they  had  been  prac- 
tically universal.  It  was  astonishing  to  see  the  skill  of  teach- 
ers, even  in  moments  of  abstraction  or  of  other  cares,  in  detect- 
ing the  dropping  out  of  a  single  voice,  or  the  use  of  the  babel  of 
voices  to  cover  communication  of  a  forbidden  nature.  Richard 
Malcolm  Johnston,  in  his  paper  on  Early  Educational  Life  in 
Middle  Georgia,  writes,  in  a  note  which  accords  with  the  au- 
thor's experience,  as  follows :  "  The  fashion  of  studying  aloud 
in  schools,  now  so  curious  to  recall,  did  not  produce  the  con- 
fusion which  those  not  accustomed  to  it  would  suppose.  Be- 
sides the  natural  desire  to  avoid  punishment,  rivalries  were 
often  very  active,  particularly  among  girls,  and  during  the  time 
devoted  wholly  to  study  there  were  few  who  did  not  make  rea- 
sonable effort  to  prepare  for  recitation.  Spellers,  readers,  geog- 
raphers, grammarians,  getters-by-heart,  all  except  cipherers, 
each  in  his  or  her  own  tongue  and  tone,  raised  to  height  suffi- 
cient to  be  clearly  distinguished  from  others  by  individual  ears, 


io6  Pine  Knot 

Mr.  Buzbee  tapped  lightly  with  his  pencil  and  said : 
"  We  will  have  no  studying  aloud.  The  room  must  be 
quiet." 

The  trustees  looked  at  each  other  in  amazement, 
and  the  pupils  sat  open-mouthed,  wondering  what  they 
could  be  expected  to  do. 

The  teacher  then  began  his  classification.  "  Can 
you  read  ?  "  he  asked  the  first  boy. 

"  I  dunno.    I  never  tried." 

"  Can  you  spell  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  I  kin  spell  through  the  book  sight  les- 
sons, and  over  to  *  horseback  '  heart  lessons."  * 

filled  the  room  and  several  square  rods  of  circumambient  space 
outside.  In  this  while  the  master,  deaf  to  the  various  multitu- 
dinous sounds,  sat  in  his  chair,  sometimes  watching  for  a  silent 
tongue,  at  others  with  lackluster  eyes  gazing  through  the  door 
into  the  world  beyond,  perhaps  musing  when  and  where,  if  ever 
in  this  life,  this  toiling,  fighting,  migratory,  isolated,  and  about 
friendless  career  would  find  respite." 

*  In  the  use  of  Webster's  Elementary  Speller,  the  word  at 
the  head  of  the  page  comes  to  be  a  familiar  designation  for  the 
section  of  the  book  containing  it.  Thus,  to  have  "  spelled  over 
as  far  as  baker,"  signifies  familiarity  with  the  simplest  words  of 
two  syllables  ;  "  horseback,"  the  hardest  common  words  of  two 
syllables,  and  so  on.  The  book  itself  contains  division  headings, 
as,  "  words  of  three  syllables,  accented  on  the  second,"  but  it  is 
simpler  to  say  "sirocco."  Under  each  section  are  short  sen- 
tences, some  of  them  very  quaint,  used  as  reading  lessons,  and 
often  committed  as  proverbs.  For  instance,  under  "sirocco" 
the  pupil  is  informed  that  "the  chewing  of  tobacco  is  a  useless 
custom,"  the  statement  being  suggested  by  the  word  "  tobacco," 
which  falls  in  this  section.  In  the  back  of  the  book  are  certain 
tales,  as  of  the  farmer  and  the  rude  boys,  the  milkmaid  and 
her  day  dream,  and  the  ox  that  had  been  gored  by  the  bull. 
This  part  of  the  book  is  known  as  "  the  grammar  of  it."  The 
book  is  much  less  elaborate  than  the  newer  spellers,  but  it  is 
said  to  sell  a  million  copies  a  year  even  to  this  day.     In  the 


The  Surprise  at  the  Schoolhouse      107 

"  Very  well.  You  should  have  been  taught  to  read 
while  learning  to  spell.  Now,  take  your  speller,  and 
study  this  line,  which  tells  you  that  *  Ann  can  spin 
flax.'  Spend  the  next  hour  in  looking  at  it,  finding  out 
from  what  you  know  of  spelling  which  word  it  is  that 
corresponds  to  each  of  those  groups  of  letters.  Be  able 
to  read  the  sentence  as  a  whole,  and  to  point  out  each 
word  at  sight,  to  print  it  on  the  slate  and  to  spell  it. 
Have  it  so  that  you  will  know  every  word  in  that  sen- 
tence wherever  you  find  it.  I  will  have  a  blackboard 
here  in  a  few  days,  and  I  shall  expect  you  to  be  able 
to  print  your  lesson  upon  it.  You  have  no  slate? 
You  may  borrow  one,  if  you  can.  If  not,  study  it  the 
more,  for  I  shall  require  you  to  do  it." 

The  boy  stood  astonished.  It  had  never  occurred 
to  him  before  that  the  printed  words  which  he  had 
spelled  in  the  long  columns  were  intended  to  be  put 
together  so  as  to  convey  information. 

The  trustees  looked  anxious.  Peleg  Goodwin,  who 
felt  chiefly  responsible  for  the  teacher,  was  first  to 
question  this  new  and  singular  method. 

"  Mr.  Buzbee,"  said  he,  "  don't  you  have  'em  spell 
three  or  four  times  through  the  book  before  you  have 
'em  read  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  I  expect  them  to  read  at  once." 

"  I  never  heerd  tell  of  no  sech  way  o'  teachin',"  said 
Noel  Davis. 

"  I  will  illustrate  it,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee.  "  Let  all 
who  do  not  know  their  letters  step  forward." 

There  was  a  long,  wavy  row  across  the  room,  girls 
in  linsey-woolsey,  boys  in  new  suits  of  tow,  hastily 

judgment  of  the  writer,  who  has  used  it  enough  to  know  its 
merits,  it  deserves  its  continued  popularity. 


io8  Pine  Knot 

finished  for  the  day,  and  as  yet  very  new  and  very 
scratchy. 

"  All  look  this  way,"  said  he,  and  with  a  bit  of  red 
keel  he  printed  on  the  hewn  face  of  a  log,  "  See  my 
cat." 

"  Now,  children,  I  want  you  to  look  at  this  that 
I  have  done.  I  have  written  here  the  three  words, 
*  See  my  cat.'  Look  at  this  sentence.  It  is  in  three 
parts,  and  each  of  them  is  a  word.  They  are  not  alike. 
They  are  just  as  dififerent  as  are  the  three  words  which 
I  speak  when  I  say,  '  See  my  cat.'  Look  hard  at  them. 
This  one  is  *  cat.'  You  must  be  able  to  know  it  when- 
ever you  see  it,  just  as  you  would  know  a  picture  of  a 
cat.  It  never  means  anything  else  than  cat.  I  will 
talk  to  you  about  the  other  two  words  later,  but  now  I 
will  print  this  one  word  on  a  piece  of  paper.  Take  it, 
and  go  down  to  the  road,  and  make  it  in  the  dust  with 
short  sticks.  Help  each  other  to  get  it  right.  I  shall 
come  and  look  at  it  at  recess  time.  Do  not  stop  till 
you  can  make  this  word  in  the  dust.  You  may  try  to 
draw  a  cat,  too,  if  you  like.  Wait  a  minute.  If  I 
should  tell  you  the  three  letters  in  that  word,  could 
you  remember  them  ?  Perhaps  some  one  of  you  knows 
already  how  to  spell  cat?  Do  you  know,  my  little 
man?  Well,  do  not  tell  it  now,  but  when  you  get 
down  to  the  road  tell  all  the  others.  Teach  them  the 
three  letters.  And  whatever  any  one  of  you  knows,  he 
may  teach  the  others.  Whoever  learns  anything  be- 
fore the  rest  of  the  class  will  have  this  reward,  that  he 
will  be  the  teacher  of  that  thing  to  the  others." 

It  astonished  the  trustees  and  parents,  and  Widow 
Braniman  was  not  the  only  one  who  threatened  to 
take  her  "  young  'uns  out  if  they  was  goin'  on  that 


The  Surprise  at  the  Schoolhouse      109 

away  "  ;  but  as  the  parents  straggled  home,  they  found 
their  hopefuls  regarding  their  work  in  the  road.  There 
were  printed  cats,  and  drawn  cats  of  all  stages  of  im- 
perfection, and  mud  pies  as  well,  and  a  few  had  orna- 
mented their  work  with  borders  of  barefoot  tracks,  and 
a  few  of  the  ambitious  ones  were  teaching  the  others 
how  to  improve  their  work.  But  there  was  not  a 
child  in  the  school  who,  at  the  end  of  the  first  day,  did 
not  know  the  word  "  cat,"  and  most  of  them  knew  the 
other  two  words. 

"  I  wish  the  trustees  to  prepare  me  a  blackboard," 
said  Mr.  Buzbee.  "  You  may  plane  four  boards  a  foot 
wide  and  five  feet  long  and  fasten  them  together  on 
the  back,  and  stain  them  black  with  pokeberry  juice." 

"  What's  that  fur?  "  asked  Noel  Davis. 

"  That  is  to  write  upon  with  chalk,  where  all  the 
school  can  see  it." 

It  was  a  new  idea,  but  it  took,  and  the  blackboard 
of  Pine  Knot,  with  red  keel  for  chalk,  was  inspected 
by  many  schools  about,  a  few  of  which  copied  it  for 
their  own  use. 

Arithmetic  was  the  one  branch,  except  spelling, 
that  was  well  taught  in  the  mountain  schools.  The 
pupils  had  a  natural  talent  for  figures,  and  not  a  few 
of  the  larger  pupils  had  hard  problems  of  their  own 
with  which  they  attempted  "  to  floor "  every  new 
teacher.  Woe  to  the  reputation  of  the  teacher  who 
confessed  that  he  could  not  work  them ! 

There  was  no  geography  or  history,  and  the  gram- 
mar was  of  the  most  arbitrary  sort,  as  impractical  as 
could  be  imagined,  and  many  a  boy  finished  the  course 
in  it  with  no  idea  that  "  nominative,  he ;  possessive, 
his ;  objective,  him,"  really  meant  anything.    Mr.  Buz- 


no  Pine  Knot 

bee  discarded  the  two  or  three  grammar  books,  and 
arranged  a  method  of  oral  teaching.  As  to  geography, 
he  made  a  class  of  his  own,  and  promised  to  tell  them 
a  story  each  day,  and  have  them  repeat  it  to  him  the 
day  after.  The  same  method  he  pursued  in  history, 
and  as  this  did  not  give  him  classes  enough,  he  asked 
each  pupil  to  bring  from  home  a  few  kernels  of  corn, 
a  bean  or  two,  and  certain  other  seeds,  which  they 
would  plant  beside  the  spring  branch,  and  dig  up 
specimens  day  by  day  for  examination. 

"  Hit  ain't  no  way  to  keep  school,"  whispered  Noel 
Davis  to  Peleg  Goodwin. 

"  He'll  lam  'em  a  heap,"  said  Goodwin,  "  but  hit 
ain't  what  we  send  'em  to  larn.  Daggon  me,  ef  I 
wouldn't  like  to  come  here  to  school  myself." 

There  was  a  spirited  discussion  about  it  all,  and 
the  neighbors  were  of  at  least  two  minds  about  the 
matter.  It  was  strange,  to  say  the  least.  One  group 
of  little  folks  was  sent  to  the  woods  to  see  how  the 
sycamore  leaf  protects  its  buds,  and  to  compare  the 
way  of  the  oak  and  the  hickory,  and  another  was  sent 
to  watch  an  ant  nest,  while  the  teacher  was  grouping 
his  larger  pupils  into  classes.  One  thing  was  certain, 
he  was  master  of  the  situation,  and  another  thing  was 
probable,  that  the  children  would  learn  something, 
whether  it  was  what  Mr.  Goodwin  thought  they  ought 
to  learn  or  not. 

This  work  was  nearing  completion,  when  a  whis- 
pered word  passed  around  directed  all  eyes  to  the 
door.  Noel  Davis  shifted  his  seat,  and  got  well  into 
the  corner,  yet  where  the  open  door  would  serve  him, 
if  a  retreat  became  necessary.  Bill  Blake  looked  anx- 
ious, and  Peleg  Goodwin  grew  nervous  and  a  little 


The  Surprise  at  the  Schoolhouse      iii 

pale.  Jim  Fletcher  came  riding  up  the  road,  over  the 
children's  printed  lesson,  and  hitched  his  horse  to  a 
tree  hard  by.  Then,  with  a  determined  look  on  his 
dark  face,  he  strode  up  the  path  to  the  schoolhouse, 
and  crossed  the  threshold.  There  was  fear  on  almost 
every  face  within.  No  one  was  unmoved  except  the 
teacher,  who  greeted  the  newcomer,  and  asked  him 
to  take  a  seat.  The  whole  company  waited  for  the 
outburst  which  was  to  follow.  James  Fletcher  reached 
in  his  pocket,  and  drew  forth,  not  a  pistol,  but  a  silver 
dollar,  which  he  handed  to  the  teacher,  saying : 

"  That's  my  tuition  for  a  month.  I'm  not  in  school 
age,  but  I  want  to  come  to  school  and  learn  all  I  can." 

Then  he  took  his  seat  among  the  children  who  had 
been  his  pupils,  and  the  hush  that  fell  on  the  room  was 
like  the  silence  which  follows  a  thunderclap. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   TOP   SIDE   OF   THE   EARTH 

What  is  the  shape  of  the  earth?  They  were  dis- 
cussing this  question  around  the  cane  mill  at  Sile 
Parker's.  It  was  at  the  time  of  the  stir-off,  and  the 
talk  which  had  started  earlier  in  the  day  grew  more 
voluminous  and  more  intense  after  supper.  The  com- 
pany was  larger  then,  and  the  grinding  being  done, 
and  the  sap  at  its  final  boiling,  there  was  more  time 
to  talk. 

"  It  ain't  what  I  send  my  young  uns  to  school  to 
larn,"  said  Green  Best. 

"  You'd  best  be  glad  to  have  'em  larn  anything. 
They'll  be  just  that  much  ahead  of  their  daddy,"  re- 
torted Neze  Post  with  a  laugh. 

"  Without  it's  develmaint,"  added  Jake  Crawford. 

"  You  want  to  remember,  fellers,  that  they  got  a 
mammy,"  replied  Green  good-naturedly.  "  I  hain't 
never  sot  up  to  be  no  Solomon  myself,  but  the  chaps 
ain't  likely  to  be  fools  ef  they  favor  their  ma." 

"Oh,  we  knowed  which  side  o'  the  house  the  brains 
was  on,"  said  Post,  and  the  laugh  grew  more  boisterous. 
This  was  characteristic  Pine  Knot  humor,  and  Green 
counted  it  a  family  compliment,  since  it  reflected  credit 
on  his  wife. 


The  Top  Side  of  the  Earth  113 

"  Brains  is  one  thing,  and  this  here  talk  about  the 
earth  bein'  round  is  another,"  said  Green. 

"  That's  so,"  said  Preacher  Taulbee.  "  I  lay  off  to 
have  as  much  brains  as  the  next  feller,  and  I  thank 
the  Lord  that  my  jeans  coat  hain't  never  breshed  no 
dust  offn  nary  college  wall.  This  here  talk  about  the 
earth  bein'  round  is  a-goin'  to  ruin  this  country  ef  we 
ain't  keerful." 

Preacher  Taulbee  owned  the  cane  mill,  and  hauled 
it  from  place  to  place  in  the  autumn,  grinding  out  the 
sap  from  the  little  patches  of  sorghum  along  the  creek, 
and  boiling  it  down  into  molasses. 

"  What  do  you  aim  to  do  about  it  ?  "  asked  Post. 

"  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  stand  it,"  said  Taulbee. 

"  But  the  teacher's  a-teachin'  it  right  along." 

"  I'll  take  my  boy  out  of  school." 

"  That  won't  stop  him  a-larning  the  rest  of  the 
chaps." 

"  No,  but  the  rest  kin  do  the  same  ef  they  feel  as 
I  do." 

"  But  he's  laming  the  chaps  a  sight,"  said  Parker. 

"  It  ain't  the  larning,"  said  the  preacher.  "  I 
don't  like  to  have  our  young  uns  larned  what's  goin' 
to  make  'em  infidels." 

"  Mr.  Buzbee  ain't  no  infidel,"  said  Parker.  "  He's 
a  good  man,  and  you  alls  know  it." 

"  But  he  cyan't  ride  over  this  community  with  his 
fool  talk  about  the  earth  bein'  round,"  said  Noel  Davis. 

"  I  know  one  thing,"  said  Taulbee,  "  he  cyan't 
ride  me.    He  kin  saddle  me,  but  he  cyan't  ride  me." 

"  Nor  him  nor  no  other  man  cyan't  ride  me,"  said 
Davis.  "  Ef  he  comes  up  to  whar  I'm  a-standin'  at  the 
trought  a-eatin'  my  oats,  and  gits  his  foot  in  my  stirrup 


114  Pine  Knot 

and  goes  to  throw  his  laig  acrost,  about  the  time  the 
dust  clars  off  I'll  be  a-standin'  thar  like  I  was  before, 
and  he'll  be  a-layin'  off  about  ten  foot,  and  one  o'  his 
galluses'll  be  wropped  around  my  hind  foot." 

Just  what  the  teacher  had  done  to  give  wings  to 
this  brilliant  flight  of  rhetoric  may  be  inferred  from  the 
conversation.  He  had  taught  the  children  of  Pine 
Knot  that  the  earth  is  round. 

"  What  be  you  a-doin'  thar,  Noel  ?  'Pears  to  me 
you're  keepin'  mighty  still,"  said  Green. 

"  The  still  sow  steals  the  swill,  I've  heerd  tell/'  said 
Neze. 

"  I  ain't  a-doin'  nothin',"  said  Noel,  concealing  a 
shovel  in  the  dark. 

"I  know  what  you're  a-doin',"  said  Green.  "You're 
a-fixin'  you  a  glory  hole." 

"  Shet  up !  "  said  Noel.    "  Hit's  for  the  teacher !  " 

The  teacher  did  not  step  into  the  glory  hole  that 
night.  He  had  been  at  one  or  two  stir-off's  before, 
and  had  learned  to  locate  the  hole  where  the  skim- 
mings were  poured,  and  to  expect  that  it  would  be 
lightly  covered  with  sod  as  a  trap  for  some  unwary 
victim.  Noel  himself  forgot  and  stepped  in  it  before 
the  evening  was  over,  and  thus  poetic  justice  was  done 
in  a  manner  not  wholly  unusual.  But  the  teacher  got 
his  foot  into  another  situation  that  evening  by  ac- 
cepting Preacher  Taulbee's  challenge  to  a  debate  on 
the  shape  of  the  earth. 

The  fire  was  glowing  under  the  long  sheet-iron 
pan.  The  furnace  had  been  made  by  digging  a  shallow 
trench  a  foot  longer  than  the  pan  in  the  bank  of  the 
creek.  From  the  lower  level  it  was  easy  to  tend  the 
fire,  and  the  elevation  of  the  pan  to  the  top  of  the 


The  Top  Side  of  the  Earth  115 

bank  made  it  easy  to  pour  in  the  sap  and  dip  out  the 
molasses.  The  fire  showed  out  at  the  door  and  cast 
its  red  hght  across  the  creek,  and  also  from  the  chim- 
ney, if  the  hole  at  the  other  end  could  be  so  called, 
making  a  nearly  vertical  cone  of  light  above  the  pan. 
But  later  when  they  lifted  off  the  pan,  the  whole  bed 
of  red-hot  coals  blazed  out,  and,  to  quote  the  felicitous 
phrase  of  No  Bus'ness,  "  burned  a  hole  in  the  night." 

Mr.  Buzbee  appeared  just  as  the  pan  was  lifted  off, 
and  the  young  folks,  who  by  this  time  numbered  a 
score  or  more,  crowded  around  the  pan  with  their 
whittled  paddles,  and  scraped  the  edges  where  the 
molasses  cooled  first,  and  licked  the  paddles  and  came 
again.  The  teacher  soon  had  all  the  molasses  he 
wanted,  and  withdrew  from  the  crowd  of  youngsters 
who  were  laughing  over  Noel's  mishap,  as  since  the 
day  of  Haman  people  have  laughed  or  moralized — 
and  it  amounts  to  the  same  thing  often — over  the 
fate  of  the  man  who  falls  into  his  own  snare.  The 
group  of  men  who  stood  aside  were  talking  about  his 
teaching  that  the  earth  is  round,  and  his  approach 
resulted  in  a  frank  challenge  from  the  preacher  to  dis- 
cuss the  question  publicly  in  the  Pine  Knot  school- 
house.  The  teacher  promptly  accepted,  and  the  de- 
tails were  arranged. 

It  was  a  crisp  autumn  evening  when  the  first  de- 
bate occurred.  From  up  the  creek  and  down  people 
came  with  unlighted  pine-knot  torches,  or  with  little 
brass  lamps.  A  fire  was  kindled  in  the  ample  fire- 
place, and  several  of  the  brass  lamps,  smoking  furi- 
ously, and  incidentally  lighting  a  little  spot  about  them, 
made  the  darkness  visible.  Before  it  was  dark  the  log 
schoolhouse  was  crowded. 


ii6  Pine  Knot 

With  Buzbee  came  James  Fletcher,  who  was  to 
be  his  colleague.  With  Taulbee  was  Green  Baker,  a 
preacher  of  note  from  Laurel  County.  Baker  was 
noted  for  various  things.  He  always  removed  his 
coat  when  preaching,  but  this  was  not  enough  to 
distinguish  him.  He  had  served  one  term  in  the  peni- 
tentiary at  Frankfort,  and  while  it  would  be  a  gross 
libel  to  mention  this  as  if  it  were  common  among 
mountain  preachers,  still  it  is  worthy  of  note  that  not 
a  few  converted  ruffians  become  preachers  there;  the 
ministry  is  the  one  respectable  career  left  for  such  men, 
with  dignity  comparable  to  their  past  estate.  And 
it  certainly  is  characteristic  of  the  region  that  while 
common  fame  declared  that  the  particular  oflfense  for 
which  he  had  been  sentenced  in  his  sinful  days  was 
hog-stealing,  Baker  himself  declared  that  it  was  for 
"  stobbin'  a  feller."  He  was  well  past  both  stealing 
and  stabbing  now,  however,  but  had  in  him  the  some- 
what sanctified  spirit  of  the  desperado  turned  to 
righteous  ends.  He  was  to  be  the  chief  speaker  to- 
night, and  his  old  spirit  was  up.  He  was  righteously 
indignant  that  any  man  should  be  teaching  pernicious 
doctrine,  and  he  was  enjoying  the  prospect  of  a  fight 
for  the  truth, 

Renfro  was  chosen  chairman  by  mutual  agreement. 
At  Fletcher's  suggestion,  Mr.  Buzbee  also  chose  him 
as  judge.  The  preachers  chose  another  preacher,  and 
so  it  was  certain  in  advance  that  the  vote  would  stand 
paired,  with  the  third  man  to  decide.  It  was  agreed 
also  that  each  man  should  speak  three  quarters  of  an 
hour,  and  that  the  leaders  should  close  the  discussion. 

Mr.  Buzbee  began  by  stating  the  arguments  given 
in  the  geographies.    He  told  of  the  ships  whose  masts. 


The  Top  Side  of  the  Earth  117 

though  smaller,  appear  before  the  hulls;  of  the  round 
shadow  upon  the  moon,  cast  by  the  earth  in  time  of 
an  eclipse,  and  so  on.  It  seemed  to  him  a  clear  and 
convincing  statement.  But  it  was  evident,  even  while 
he  was  speaking,  that  any  argument  based  on  unob- 
structed vision  was  inefifective ;  people  living  among 
the  hills  had  no  experience  which  enabled  them  to 
interpret  such  an  argument. 

Taulbee  made  the  most  of  this  in  his  reply.  Even 
if  it  was  true,  he  said,  it  proved  nothing,  and  nothing 
was  so  certain  as  that  the  earth  was  solid.  He  ap- 
pealed to  the  evidences  of  the  senses,  to  the  experi- 
ence of  mankind,  to  common  sense,  and  to  the  Bible. 
Who  of  all  the  people  here  ever  saw  the  creek,  which 
flowed  west,  begin  running  east  at  midnight,  as  it  cer- 
tainly must  do  when  the  earth  tipped  sufficiently  ?  As 
to  eclipses,  they  were  freaky  things.  He  had  once 
seen  one  come  on  and  go  ofif  on  the  same  side  of  the 
moon ;  the  fact  was,  no  one  could  predict  the  turn  they 
might  take,  and  it  was  a  pure  assumption  that  they 
were  caused  by  the  earth's  shadow.  Besides,  even  if 
it  were  possible  to  prove  that  eclipses  were  caused  by 
the  shadow  of  the  earth,  it  might  be  merely  the  shadow 
of  a  round  hill  on  the  top  side  of  it. 

Fletcher  followed,  and  dwelt  upon  the  facts  of 
human  experience.  Men  had  actually  sailed  around 
the  earth.  Men  whom  they  had  seen  on  the  other 
side  were  no  more  on  the  bottom  than  they  them- 
selves; they,  also,  thought  themselves  to  be  standing 
with  heads  up,  and  suffered  no  discomfort.  He  urged 
his  hearers  to  believe  that  the  earth's  motion  made  it 
seem  that  the  sun  and  stars  moved ;  even  so  he  had 
seen  on  horseback  a  whole  landscape  in  apparent  mo- 


ii8  Pine  Knot 

tion,  and  he  had  heard  that  people  on  a  train  were  un- 
certain whether  their  own  train  or  one  on  an  adjoin- 
ing track  was  moving. 

Then  Baker  rose.  He  was  a  giant  in  stature,  and 
stooped  a  Httle  to  get  down  to  the  level  of  other  people. 
He  was  stooping  when  he  began  to  speak,  but  he 
straightened  as  he  proceeded,  and  the  effect  was  as  if  he 
added  cubits  to  his  stature  by  the  mere  force  of  his 
argument.  He  took  his  stand  beside  Buzbee's  chair, 
and  made  sweeping  gestures  over  his  head,  his  ponder- 
ous fist  descending  over  the  head  of  the  teacher  as 
though  he  would  crush  his  skull. 

"  Mr.  Presidaint,"  he  said,  "  this  here  ain't  no  time 
for  smooth  talking.  I've  come  here  to-night  from  clar 
over  the  aidge  of  the  yarth  in  Laurel  " — there  was  in- 
finite sarcasm  in  the  words,  and  a  plain  attempt  to 
establish  his  own  reputation  as  a  traveler — "  and  I've 
come  too  fur  to  have  ary  false  idy  of  politeness  to  these 
here  gentlemen,  I'm  a-goin'  to  hew  to  the  line,  and 
let  the  chips  fall  whar  they  will.  This  here's  a  age  of 
new  idys,  and  most  of  'em  false;  this  here's  a  time 
that  people  wants  to  believe  a  lie  and  be  damned.  And 
hit's  a  time  for  them  that  believes  the  truth  to  stand 
together  and  fight  for  the  truth,  and  not  be  mealy- 
mouthed  about  it.  I  ain't  a-sayin'  my  colleage  ain't 
right  in  bein'  so  p'tic'lar  to  be  polite  to  these  gentle- 
men, and  I  ain't  disputin'  that  they're  very  nice  young 
gentlemen,  but  they  got  a  heap  to  larn,  and  some 
things  that  ain't  down  in  the  books  in  college. 
R-r-r-r-ck !  " 

Thus  he  ended  his  paragraphs  with  a  hostile  clear- 
ing of  the  throat,  and  a  threatening  gesture.  Then 
he  began  his  argument. 


The  Top  Side  of  the  Earth  119 

Who  did  not  know,  he  asked,  that  travelers  were 
notorious  Uars?  They  came  back,  knowing  that  it  is 
impossible  to  disprove  their  tales  and  that  people  ex- 
pect them  to  have  seen  great  things.  People  expect 
them  to  lie,  and  they  do  lie. 

"  Why,  I  remember,"  said  he,  becoming  facetious, 
"  when  Bill  Geddes  went  off  with  a  hog  drove.  He 
come  back  plum  heavy  under  the  heft  of  the  wisdom 
he'd  got.  All  the  neighbors  ast  him  whar  he'd  ben, 
and  he  said  he  didn't  know.  And  so  they  kep'  a-pes- 
terin'  him  to  know  somethin'  about  it.  *  I  dunno,' 
says  he,  '  but  I  know  I  got  a  long  ways  off  and  to  a 
mighty  quare  place.'  *  How  was  hit  quare  ? '  says 
some  one.    *  Wal,'  says  he,  '  they  called  sop,  gravy.'  " 

This  story  provoked  a  roar  of  laughter,  and,  while 
the  point  was  not  quite  in  sight,  it  was  evident  that  it 
militated  against  Buzbee  and  Fletcher. 

"  Now,  who's  a-goin'  to  believe  that  down  under 
the  dirt  and  rocks  and  sich  thar's  folks  a-livin'  with 
haids  down,  and  foolish  enough  to  allow  they're  up? 
I've  heerd  tell  of  folks  not  a-knowin'  which  end  thar 
haids  was  on,  but  I  hadn't  no  My  of  meetin'  none  till 
to-night !  I  reckon  that's  whar  these  gentlemen  come 
from;  anyhow,  they  come  from  whar  men's  idys  gits 
that  away.     R-r-r-r-ck ! 

"  Now,  all  this  here  talk  about  men  sailin'  round 
the  yarth.  Now  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  water 
would  run  off  the  aidge  and  take  them  with  it.  And 
if  they  thought  they  sailed  around,  why  mebby  they 
sailed  around  as  clost  to  the  aidge  as  they  could  and 
kept  a-goin'  till  they  come  back." 

He  illustrated  this  by  telling  of  a  man  who  thought 
himself  to  be  going  straight  ahead,  but  who  really  was 
9 


I20  Pine  Knot 

lost,  and  who,  after  a  night  of  wandering,  found  him- 
self where  he  started  from.  "  But  even  he  wasn't  fool 
enough  to  allow  he'd  went  around  the  yarth  to  git  to 
the  back  side  of  his  own  barn.     R-r-r-r-ck !  " 

Then  he  advanced  to  the  positive  part  of  his  argu- 
ment. He  had  been  something  of  a  traveler  himself. 
He  had  been  through  Cumberland  Gap  into  Old  Vir- 
giny,  and  had  been  the  other  way  as  far  as  Frankfort. 
He  had  found  that  the  earth  was  not  all  so  broken  into 
knobs  as  it  was  here,  but  he  had  found  no  place  where  it 
appeared  round,  and  his  eye  was  as  good  as  the  next 
man's.  He  had  sat  up  all  night  grinding  when  water 
had  been  low,  and  the  need  of  meal  was  great,  and  at 
no  instant  during  the  night  had  the  mill  pond,  the  one 
level  sheet  of  what  water  was  near  his  home,  even  hesi- 
tated about  running  over  the  dam.  "  Hit  didn't  appear 
to  know  what  these  gentlemen  expected  of  it.  I  hain't 
no  doubt  ef  the  water  had  a-knowed  how  it  ort  to  act, 
hit  would  have  done  different  when  the  yarth  began 
to  tip ;  but  'peared  lack  hit  didn't  know  no  better  than 
to  do  like  it  done.  Hit  never  went  to  no  college,  and 
couldn't  be  blamed  for  hit's  ignorance.  Nobody 
larned  the  water  how  to  run  but  God  A'mighty. 
R-r-r-r-ck ! " 

By  this  time  Baker's  form  seemed  to  tower  among 
the  rafters,  and  the  planes  of  light  made  by  the  flicker- 
ing lamps  added  to  his  apparent  height.  He  wore  no 
vest,  and  his  jeans  coat  had  been  laid  aside.  His  long 
arms  were  swinging,  and  his  right  fist  was  descending 
over  the  teacher's  head. 

"  But  all  this  ain't  a  patchin'  to  what  I've  got  to 
say.  The  question  ain't  what  I  think  nor  what  these 
here  nice  gentlemen  think.     I  hain't  got  no  quarrel 


The  Top  Side  of  the  Earth  121 

with  them,  nor  I  don't  intend  to  run  for  no  office  here, 
neither,  nor  come  over  here  a-sparkin'  nor  apply  for 
no  schools  to  keep.  I'm  to  tell  the  truth  without  fear 
or  favor,  and  I  say  that  this  doctrine  is  plum  agin  the 
word  of  God." 

Then  he  told  how  the  Bible  declares  that  God  laid 
the  corner  stone  of  the  earth,  and  stretched  the  line 
upon  it,  and  he  asked  what  need  a  ball  had  for  a  corner 
or  a  corner  stone — "  no  more  need  than  a  hog  has  for 
a  sidesaddle,"  he  answered — and  how  a  straight  line 
could  conform  to  a  curve.  He  added  that  the  Bible 
affirms  that  the  course  of  the  sun  is  from  one  end  of 
the  heaven  to  the  other,  and  that  if  the  sun  is  station- 
ary the  Bible  must  be  false.  He  affirmed  that,  if  the 
Bible  is  true,  nothing  is  hid  from  the  heat  of  the  sun, 
whereas,  if  his  opponents  were  right,  the  poles  were 
long  in  darkness.  He  was  in  the  midst  of  a  long  array 
of  quotations  when  his  time  expired. 

It  was  evident  that  the  argument  was  not  ex- 
hausted, and  adjournment  was  had  for  a  week.  Public 
sentiment  was  divided  concerning  the  merits  of  the 
discussion,  but  no  one  questioned  that  Baker  had  made 
a  profound  impression.  He  himself  conceded,  as 
modestly  as  he  knew  how,  that  he  had  delivered  a 
great  speech,  and  added,  "  Hit  takes  a  college-bred  to 
dror  me  out !  " 

Mr.  Buzbee  and  his  colleague  got  together  and 
compared  notes.  It  was  evident  that  they  were  to  have 
a  harder  task  than  they  anticipated.  Anxious  as  they 
were  to  succeed — and  to  be  defeated  would  be  only 
less  fatal  to  their  reputation  in  the  community  than 
to  be  the  victims  of  a  successful  lockout — they  were 
also  anxious   to   convince   their   audience,   many  of 


122  Pine  Knot 

whom  indeed  agreed  with  them,  but  not  a  few  of  whom 
counted  their  teaching  a  dangerous  heresy.  And,  in- 
deed, a  man  who  has  seen  sincere  people  in  the  throes 
of  an  effort  to  beUeve  the  earth  round  and  the  Bible 
true  comes  to  look  rather  calmly  on  discussions  about 
higher  criticism  and  evolution  and  the  other  minor 
afifairs  which  trouble  the  faith  of  weaker  souls  than 
these  stalwart  mountaineers.  And  if  it  seem  to  any 
reader  that  a  man  must  be  counted  ignorant  because 
he  believes  the  earth  fiat  and  stationary,  let  him  re- 
member that  Sir  Francis  Bacon  never  fully  accepted 
the  Copernican  theory;  that  Turretin  defends  the 
theory  that  the  earth  is  flat ;  and  that  one  great  Ameri- 
can university  is  said  to  have  taught  the  Ptolemaic 
theory  for  conscience'  sake  down  to  the  second  decade 
of  the  nineteenth  century. 

The  simple  globes  and  luminaries  and  the  home- 
made orrery  were  fairly  successful,  and  made  an  im- 
pression on  the  audience  when  exhibited,  and  it  im- 
pressed the  third  judge,  Tom  Lawson  the  blacksmith. 
The  teachers  appreciated  his  growing  interest,  and 
they  noted  gladly  that  Mr.  Taulbee  could  do  little  more 
than  thrash  over  the  straw  of  the  previous  meeting. 
But  Mr.  Baker  had  not  exhausted  his  argument,  and 
when  he  rose  it  was  to  an  argument  chiefly  biblical 
and  full  of  power.  As  he  went  on  he  grew  more  heated 
and  indulged  more  in  sarcasm.  Looking  down  in 
scorn  upon  Buzbee,  and  clearing  his  throat,  he  said: 

"  R-r-r-r-ck !  Here's  a  college-bred — ah !  And  he's 
come  out  here  into  this  wilderness  country — ah! — to 
larn  us  and  to  instruct  us  about  the  shape  of  the  yarth 
— ah!  And  he  knows  more'n  what  Joshua  did — ah! 
Brethering,  do  you  reckon  Joshua  needed  him  to  tell 


The  Top  Side  of  the  Earth  123 

him  what  to  pray  for — ah !  Did  he  say,  *  Yarth,  stand 
thou  still  on  thine  axletree ' — ah !  No,  he  says,  says 
he,  *  Sun,  stand  thou  still  upon  Gibeon  ' — ah ! — '  and 
thou  moon  in  the  valley  of  Ajalon ' — ah !  But  he 
knows  more'n  what  Joshua  did — ah!  I  reckon  he'd 
like  to  take  Joshua  inter  this  little  school  of  hisn — ah ! 
— and  lam  him  about  the  shape  of  the  yarth — ah !  He 
knows  more'n  Joshua — ah!  Yes,  I  reckon  he  thinks 
he  knows  more'n  God  A'mighty  that  writ  this  Book — 
ah !  I  tell  ye,  brethering,  hit's  the  doctrine  of  infidelity 
— ah !  And  ary  man  that'll  teach  it  ort  to  be  drummed 
out  of  the  country — ah !     R-r-r-r-r-r-r-ck !  " 

He  also  explained  his  theory  of  the  continual 
energy  of  the  sun.    Said  he : 

"  I've  got  an  idy  about  how  it  is  that  the  sun  comes 
up  just  as  bright  as  what  it  went  down  and  don't  lose  no 
light.  Ef  hit  kep'  on  a-shinin'  in  Chiny  and  them  other 
places  day  and  night  right  along,  hit  would  burn  out 
atter  a  while.  But  every  night  when  hit  goes  down  hit 
rolls  right  through  hell  and  comes  up  a-blazin'.  Any- 
how, that's  my  notion,  though  I  don't  know  as  they's 
ary  Scripture  on  the  p'int,  but  hit  stands  to  reason." 

The  discussion  closed ;  the  judges  went  out  into 
the  dark  and  cast  their  vote,  two  to  one  in  favor  of 
the  teachers,  though  Mr.  Lawson  desired  to  have  it 
understood  that  his  vote  was  strictly  on  the  merits  of 
the  argument,  and  not  on  the  question  of  fact.  After 
the  meeting  he  said  to  Mr.  Buzbee  that  he  was  some- 
what troubled  about  the  matter,  and  he  wished  to  settle 
the  question  now  he  had  begun.  He  asked  Mr.  Buzbee 
if  he  might  come  over  some  night  and  explain  some 
questions  that  had  arisen  in  his  mind  during  the  prog- 
ress of  the  discussion. 


124  Pine  Knot 

A  few  evenings  later  he  came  over,  and  Mr.  Buz- 
bee  took  a  ball  of  yarn  and  a  knitting  needle  and  a 
candle,  and,  pushing  the  needle  through  the  ball,  illus- 
trated by  walking  around  the  candle  the  alternation 
of  day  and  night,  and  the  progression  of  the  seasons. 
At  last  Lawson  declared  that  he  understood  it,  and 
wondered  how  he  had  misunderstood  so  long.  So 
Lawson  went  home  and  the  Buzbees  retired  for  the 
night,  and  the  earth  soon  rolled  around  into  sunlight 
again. 

But  Lawson  was  not  a  permanent  convert.  Mr. 
Buzbee  heard  that  he  had  fallen  from  grace,  and  asked 
him  about  it. 

"  I  reckon  I  mout  as  well  own  up,"  said  Lawson. 
"  They  say  an  honest  confession  is  good  for  the  soul. 
You  made  that  look  mighty  plain,  but  I  wasn't  easy 
in  my  mind,  'Peared  like  ever'  time  the  old  thing 
flopped  over  she  was  goin'  to  spill  us  off.  And  I 
couldn't  git  over  Joshua,  and  the  angels  standin'  on 
the  corners  of  the  earth,  and  I  said,  '  Let  God  be  true, 
and  ever'  man  a  liar ! '  And  I  made  up  my  mind  I 
didn't  want  to  believe  it,  and  I  wasn't  a-goin'  to,  and 
I  hain't ! " 

Another  man's  heart  sank  as  he  viewed  the  failure 
of  his  conversion  to  last,  but  Mr.  Buzbee  had  learned 
to  expect  the  world  to  receive  his  ideas  somewhat 
slowly,  and  said :  "  Mr.  Lawson,  I  don't  blame  you. 
If  I  were  in  your  place,  I  don't  believe  I'd  try." 

"  It's  no  use  trying  to  deal  with  such  ignorant 
people,"  said  Mrs.  Buzbee,  who  resented  Lawson's 
fall  from  grace. 

"  We  must  not  call  them  ignorant,  my  dear,"  he 
replied  patiently.    "After  all,  we  are  not  so  far  removed 


The  Top  Side  of  the  Earth  125 

from  this  condition  that  we  can  afford  to  call  it  igno- 
rance. When  Cotton  Mather,  who,  spite  of  his  vanities 
and  minor  follies,  was  a  progressive  man  in  his  day, 
preached  that  the  sun  is  the  center  of  the  solar  sys- 
tem, so  intelligent  a  man  as  Chief-Justice  Samuel 
Sewall,  of  Boston,  went  home  and  recorded  his  protest 
in  his  diary.  Let  us  not  hasten  to  call  them  ignorant 
who  went  into  isolation  in  Sewall's  day,  and  have  re- 
tained so  well  the  civilization  of  his  time." 

The  debate  showed  Mr.  Buzbee  at  his  best.  He 
was  used  to  controversy  and  wonderfully  patient  under 
opposition.  He  was  master  of  the  learning  of  the 
subject,  and  astonished  even  Fletcher  with  his  skill 
and  resource.  And  it  made  his  place  more  secure  in 
the  community.  The  people  felt  proud  of  his  learn- 
ing, even  if  they  did  not  share  his  views,  and  they 
resented  Baker's  assaults  as  in  some  sort  a  reflection 
upon  the  district  that  had  employed  him  as  teacher. 

"  That  man  Baker  kin  preach  here  whenever  he 
wants  to,  but  he  cyan't  git  a  jury  out  to  hear  him 
atter  this,"  was  the  common  remark. 

Fletcher,  too,  had  appeared  at  his  best.  His 
espousal  of  Mr.  Buzbee's  cause  made  it  seem  a  home 
product,  and  Pine  Knot  felt  itself  a  sort  of  Galileo 
among  mountain  communities.  Not  that  all  the 
people  approved  the  theory,  but  that  the  right  to  hold 
it  was  established  beyond  cavil.  Even  Preacher  Taul- 
bee  came  to  exhibit  a  certain  respect  for  the  doc- 
trine, and  with  appropriate  gestures  admitted  that 
"  the  yarth  may  be  round  this  away  "  (that  is  cylin- 
drical), "  but  hit  ain't  round  this  away,"  that  is  spheri- 
cal. So,  notwithstanding  the  lapse  of  some  of  the  con- 
verts to  the  new  idea,  the  debate  scored  a  real  triumph 


126  Pine  Knot 

for  the  teacher  and  his  assistant,  and  made  for  prog- 
ress. 

But  there  was  one  person  who  watched  it  all  with 
anxiety.  Mrs.  Buzbee  could  not  fail  to  see  that  this 
discussion,  which  brought  Fletcher  still  more  con- 
stantly to  their  home,  was  making  his  devotion  to 
Barbara  apparent  to  every  one  except  Mr.  Buzbee, 
and  possibly  Barbara.  Did  Barbara,  too,  understand 
what  it  meant?  And  did  she  respond?  Sometimes 
Mrs.  Buzbee  thought  she  did. 


CHAPTER  XI 

WIDOW   BRANIMAN    AND    HER    NEIGHBOR 

It  is  no  disparagement  of  other  pupils  of  the  Pine 
Knot  school  to  say  that  James  Fletcher  was  the  most 
eager  pupil,  and  the  one  who  gained  the  most.  The 
studies  which  he  pursued — history,  composition,  natu- 
ral science,  having  for  its  basis  an  old  text-book  in 
physical  geography,  with  theology  and  biblical  inter- 
pretation— were  not  all  in  the  curriculum  arranged  for 
common  schools,  but  he  pursued  all  these  and  more. 
Boarding  around  among  his  friends  as  he  had  done 
while  a  teacher,  and  as  he  still  was  welcome  to  do  as 
a  preacher  and  a  friend,  he  devoted  his  whole  time,  ex- 
cept when  preaching,  to  his  studies.  And  what  he 
learned  was  almost  phenomenal.  He  brought  to  his 
task  a  mind  so  eager,  and  questions  which  he  had 
so  long  pondered,  he  felt  so  profoundly  that  this  was 
his  life  chance  to  get  the  most  from  a  man  whose  col- 
lege training  and  wide  reading  made  him  a  mint  of 
knowledge,  that  he  allowed  no  opportunity  to  escape 
him  for  the  learning  of  a  fact  or  principle. 

Mr.  Buzbee  liked  him  from  the  first,  and  was  never 
tired  of  speaking  to  his  wife  of  Fletcher's  magnanimity 
in  coming  to  school  after  his  disappointment. 

"  It  was  good  sense,"  she  replied,  "  but  I  can  hard- 

127 


128  Pine  Knot 

ly  call  it  magnanimity,  and  I  am  sure  he  is  profiting 
richly  by  it." 

"  No  doubt,  no  doubt.  But  I  also  am  profiting. 
Aside  from  the  tuition,  which  I  am  most  reluctant  to 
accept,  but  which  he  forces  upon  me,  he  is  a  great 
help.  It  was  he  who  dissuaded  the  boys  from  their 
intended  lockout :  I  am  told  that  it  is  a  universal  cus- 
tom to  lock  the  teacher  out  one  day,  to  test  his  ability 
to  master  the  school.  Of  course,  had  they  done  this, 
I  should  have  mastered  them." 

"  How?"  asked  Barbara,  a  little  disappointed  that 
her  father  had  not  been  permitted  to  triumph  over 
them. 

"  Oh,  I  can  hardly  tell,  not  knowing  the  way  their 
fancy  might  prompt  them  to  move;  but  just  by  way 
of  a  beginning,  I  have  carried  a  pound  of  sulphur 
in  my  bag  ever  since  school  opened.  It  is  far  easier 
to  set  it  on  fire  and  drop  it  down  the  chimney  than 
to  force  the  door.  If  that  had  failed,  I  have  other 
devices.  But  it  is  far  better  to  have  avoided  all  this. 
Then,  when  the  complaint  began  about  my  teaching 
that  the  earth  is  round,  it  was  he  who  assured  the 
Methodists  that  I  was  right,  though  the  Baptists,  I 
believe,  still  hold  me  a  heretic  there.  At  dififerent 
times,  too,  he  has  heard  my  classes  in  the  lower  grades, 
that  I  might  devote  more  time  to  the  higher  ones. 
He  has  been,  in  fact,  my  assistant." 

"  But  you,"  said  Mrs.  Buzbee,  "  have  given  him 
much  more  than  what  you  have  imparted  in  school 
hours.    He  comes  here  almost  every  night." 

"  It  is  a  pleasure  to  see  his  eagerness  to  learn.  I 
have  taught  him  a  little  Latin,  and  have  begun  to 
teach  him  Greek,  using  the  Greek  Testament,  and 


Widow  Braniman  and  her  Neighbor  129 

beginning  with  simple  sight-reading  in  the  Fourth 
Gospel.  It  is  a  method  of  my  own,  so  much  simpler 
than  that  commonly  employed  that  I  have  long  won- 
dered why  it  is  not  in  use  in  colleges  and  preparatory 
schools.  It  is  quite  astonishing  to  see  how  he  gets 
on.  He  has  actually  read  three  chapters,  and  has 
learned  not  a  little  of  the  grammar,  and  almost  without 
effort." 

"  John,"  asked  Mrs.  Buzbee,  as  Barbara  left  the 
room  for  a  moment,  "  do  you  think  that  it  is  solely  for 
his  lessons  that  James  Fletcher  comes  here  ?  " 

"  Why,  surely  so,  my  dear.  What  else  should 
bring  him?  " 

Mrs.  Buzbee  said  nothing  for  a  moment. 

"  I  can  think  of  nothing  else,  I  am  sure,"  he  re- 
peated. 

"  Men  are  so  blind !  "  said  Mrs.  Buzbee. 

"  You  can  not  mean — ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Certainly,  I  mean  just  that,"  she  replied. 

"  But,  my  dear,  Barbara  is  but  a  child." 

"  You  are  mistaken  again,"  said  she.  "  Barbara 
is  eighteen,  and  a  woman." 

"  Eighteen !  So  she  is !  Time  flies  so  quickly ! 
And  I  have  accomplished  so  little!  Eighteen  years 
ago  I  expected  that  by  the  time  I  was  sixty,  as  I  now 
am,  I  should  see  the  end  of  many  things  now  hardly 
begun.  But  we  are  approaching  a  consummation,  my 
dear.  Lincoln  will  be  elected.  The  Knoxville  Whig, 
which  I  have  been  reading  this  afternoon,  gives  the 
most  certain  assurance  that  the  election  will  result  so. 
And  then " 

"  But,  John,  I  wanted  to  say  a  word  about  Bar- 
bara." 


130  Pine  Knot 

"  Barbara,  oh  yes,  to  be  sure !  Well,  she  is  eight- 
een, as  you  say.    Well,  what  of  it  ?  " 

"  Only  that  James  Fletcher  is  in  love  with  her." 

"  Do  you  think  so,  my  dear?  " 

"  I  know  it." 

"  Has  Barbara  told  you  ?  " 

"  Certainly  not." 

"  Has  he  spoken  to  Barbara?  " 

"  Not  to  my  knowledge." 

"  Then  how  do  you  know  ?  Perhaps  you  only 
imagine." 

"  My  dear,  wise  old  goose  of  a  husband,  if  you  will 
only  open  your  eyes,  you  will  see  for  yourself." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  perhaps  it  is  so.  I  had  not  thought 
of  such  a  thing,  but  I  do  not  see  that  anything  is  to 
be  done." 

"  Yet,  I  don't  like  to  have  him  heart-broken." 

"  No,  of  course  not ;  and  yet,  perhaps  he  would 
not  be  so." 

"  John !  You  don't  mean  that  you  would  be  will- 
ing to  have  Barbara  marry  him  ?  " 

"  Why,  my  love,  the  whole  subject  is  new  to  me. 
I  have  not  thought  of  such  a  thing.  I  suppose  that 
Barbara  will  marry  some  time,  though  she  seems  to 
me  very  young.  I  do  not  know  that  I  seriously  object 
to  him." 

"  Why,  John !  You  do  not  consider !  What  is  his 
social  position?  What  are  his  prospects  in  life?  She 
could  have  had,  had  she  stayed  in  Lexington,  offers 
of  marriage  from  some  of  the  best  men  there.  There 
is  one  with  whom,  I  am  sure,  she  practically  had  an 
understanding." 

"Who  was  that?" 


Widow  Braniman  and  her  Neighbor  131 

"  Boyd  Estill." 

"  The  son  of  Philip  Estill,  who  married  Lydia 
Boyd?" 

"  Yes." 

"  My  dear,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee,  with  a  quiet  emphasis, 
"  the  Estills  own  slaves,  and  so  do  the  Boyds." 

"  Yes,  but  they  are  excellent  people,  and  of  the 
very  best  families.  And  I  am  not  sure  but  Barbara 
encouraged  him." 

"  They  are  not  engaged  ?  " 

"  No,  but  I  think  Barbara  is  fond  of  him." 

"  She  has  not  told  you  so  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Then  I  must  talk  with  Barbara." 

"  John  !    What  will  you  say  to  her  ?  " 

"  I  will  say  that  I  would  rather  see  her  in  her  cofifin 
than  married  to  a  slaveholder." 

"  John,  John !  Be  wise,  as  you  are  good !  Re- 
member how  father's  interference  worked  in  our  case! 
There  is  nothing  between  them,  I  am  sure.  Don't 
meddle,  or  you  will  do  harm.  I  ought  not  to  have 
told  you.  Promise  me,  John,  that  you  will  not  speak 
to  her." 

"  They  do  not  correspond  ?  " 

"  No,  I  think  they  had  some  slight  misunderstand- 
ing." 

"  Ah,  well,  it  was  doubtless  nothing  but  a  girl's 
fancy,  and  is  past,  I  doubt  not." 

"  I  am  not  sure  of  that.  But  you  let  her  alone 
about  Boyd  Estill,  and  I  will  say  nothing  at  present 
about  James  Fletcher." 

"Very  well,  my  love,"  said  he,  "that  seems  fair. 
I  had  so  much  trouble  in  my  own  love  aflfair  through 


132  Pine  Knot 

interference  that  I  have  little  inclination  to  meddle 
with  others." 

Barbara  came  in  at  this  moment,  and  announced : 

"  Mrs.  Braniman  wants  to  see  you,  father." 

"  Come  in,  Mrs.  Braniman,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee. 
"  Let  me  take  your  horse." 

"  No,  I  won't  git  down.  I  ain't  got  time  to  stop. 
Deck  Morgan  never  was  no  'count  to  fix  up  no  stile- 
blocks  so's  a  woman  could  git  oflf  a  horse  here.  I'll 
set  right  here.    Be  you  a  lawyer  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  member  of  the  bar,  but  I  do  not  practice." 

"  Well,  I  want  you  to  git  me  up  a  proteck." 

"  A  what,  my  good  woman  ?  " 

"  Lordy,  I  ain't  your  good  woman !  I  ain't  no- 
body's! I  sorter  wisht  I  was,  sometimes,  till  I  think 
how  I  was  pestered  with  my  old  man  that  died.  But 
he  got  good  to-wards  the  last.  He  was  sorter  good  all 
the  time.  But  right  to-wards  the  last  he  got  real  sweet. 
Hit  seemed  right  like  he  was  settin'  up  with  me  agin. 
And  when  he  found  he'd  got  to  die,  he  made  me  prom- 
ise to  plant  tobacker  on  his  grave,  and  nobody  smoke 
it  or  chaw  it  but  jrst  me." 

"  That  was  a  mark  of  his  affection,  doubtless. 
What  can  I  do  for  you  now  ?  " 

Barbara,  who  had  been  standing  in  the  door,  dis- 
appeared now  and  stifled  her  laughter  at  the  late 
lamented  Mr.  Braniman's  sentiment  as  best  she  could. 

"  I  want  a  proteck  agin  Noel  Davis.  He  don't 
keep  up  his  critters.  His  farm  jines  mine,  and  he  lets 
his  hogs  and  his  yearlin's  run  all  over  creation,  and 
in  my  corn.  He  wouldn't  'a'  done  it  onct  when  my 
old  man  was  alive.  He  wouldn't  do  it  now,  if  I  had 
any  one  to  stand  up  for  me.    But  1  hain't.    I  ain't  got 


Widow   Braniman  and  her  Neighbor  133 

no  man  of  no  description,  nor  boy  nuther.  No  man, 
nor  no  boy,  nor  no  nothin'.  Only  jest " — and  she 
added  this  in  a  tone  of  profound  contempt — "  only 
jest  nine  head  o'  gal  children." 

"  I  am  sorry,  very  sorry.  What  do  you  wish  me 
to  do?" 

"  I  want  you  to  draw  me  up  a  paper,  to  swear  to 
before  a  justice  of  the  peace,  to  make  him  keep  up  his 
stock,  or  his  line  fences,  one." 

"  I  see.  My  good  woman — I  beg  your  pardon, 
Mrs.  Braniman — line  fences  are  a  source  of  perpetual 
trouble  between  neighbors.  Could  you  not  so  plan 
with  him  what  you  will  plant  in  adjacent  fields  that 
each  shall  have  the  same  crop  maturing  at  the  same 
time,  so  that  he  will  have  to  keep  his  stock  away  from 
the  line  fence  to  protect  his  own  crop  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  allow  to  do  nothin'  of  the  kind.  I  jest 
allowed  that  I'd  law  him  till  he  larned  to  behave  his- 
self  like  he  oughter." 

"  I  should  not  like  to  help  you  go  to  law.  Law  is 
very  uncertain  and  unsatisfactory.  Would  not  this  be 
the  better  way  ?  " 

"  But  good  land,  ef  I've  got  to  ast  him  what  to 
plant  in  this  field,  and  tell  him  what  to  plant  in 
that,  I  mout  jest  as  well  marry  him  and  git  shet  of 
him." 

"  That  may  be  the  better  way." 

"  Do  you  reckon  so  ?  " 

"  It  is  certainly  worth  considering." 

"  Wall,  I've  said  a  hundred  times  I  wouldn't  marry 
him,  if  he  was  the  next  to  the  last  man,  and  the  other 
was  a  bald-headed,  cross-eyed  heathen." 

"  But  the  heathen  might  prove  as  disagreeable  as 


134  Piiie  Knot 

Noel,  and  besides  he  would  not  have  the  line  fence 
with  you." 

"  I'll  study  about  it,  Mr.  Buzbee.  Say,  you 
wouldn't  mind  mentioning  it  to  Noel,  would  ye?  But 
then  I  reckon  you  needn't.  I'd  like  to  think  it  over 
first." 

"  You  understand,  Mrs.  Braniman,  I  had  no 
thought  of  suggesting  such  a  thing.  It  was  your 
remark  that  brought  it  to  my  mind.  But  as  you  put 
the  case,  it  seems  to  me  an  admirable  way  of  settling 
the  difficulty.  At  any  rate,  I  should  say  the  risks  were 
less  and  the  prospects  better  than  going  to  law." 

"  Well,  I  b'lieve  you're  right.  I've  no  doubt  that 
house  o'  Noel's  is  all  seven  ways  for  Sunday  inside. 
I've  jest  thought  a  million  times  I'd  like  to  git  in  thar 
and  give  it  a  good  clarin'  up  jest  for  spite.  I  don't 
know  but  what  he  needs  a  woman  as  much  as  I  need 
a  man.  But  don't  say  nothing  about  it  to  Noel.  I 
ain't  sure  whether  I'd  have  him  yet,  and  I  wouldn't 
like  to  disappoint  him.  And  hit's  better  such  things 
should  come  around  nateral.  But  whether  I  marry 
him  or  don't,  he's  got  to  keep  up  his  yearlin's." 

It  is  characteristic  of  the  difference  in  their  tem- 
perament that  Mrs.  Buzbee  was  shocked  by  what  she 
overheard  of  this  conversation ;  Barbara  was  on  the 
point  of  explosion  with  laughter;  and  her  father  re- 
turned to  the  house  with  entire  seriousness,  having 
found  in  the  conversation  no  cause  either  of  anxiety 
or  of  amusement. 


CHAPTER  XII 
DADDY  Campbell's  funeral 

"  My  dearly  beloved  frien's,  and  neighbors,  and 
neighbors'  childering,  and  dyin'  congregation." 

It  was  Brother  Taulbee's  usual  form  of  opening 
the  service.  And  "  The  Unclouded  Day  "  was  his 
regular  opening  hymn.  He  would  have  been  as  un- 
able to  begin  a  service  without  this  formula  and  hymn 
as  he  would  have  been  to  conclude  his  exhortation 
without  warning  the  sinner  who  was  endeavoring  to 
satisfy  himself  with  "  huskis  "  *  that  he  was  liable  "  to 
be  turned  out  to  graze  in  the  broad  pastures  of  sin 
like  Nee-buck-a-nee-zer-ah ! "  and  the  certainty  that 
he  would  "  gnaw  his  tongue  in  the  tormaints  of  ever- 
lastin'  tradition — ah !  "  If  Brother  Taulbee  had  known 
any  other  way  of  opening  the  service,  this  would  have 
been  the  time  for  an  unusual  introduction,  for  this  was 
an  unusual  occasion.  Daddy  Campbell  was  to  have  his 
funeral  preached. 

Daddy  Campbell  was  popularly  believed  to  be 
much  more  than  a  hundred  years  old,  but  he  had  re- 

*  Many  of  the  strange-sounding  forms  of  speech  in  the  Cum- 
berland Mountains  are  good  Elizabethan  words,  as  the  strong 
Saxon  plural,  plurals ;  husk,  huskis  ;  beast,  beastis ;  post, 
postis,  etc. 

lo  135 


136  Pine  Knot 

cently  corrected  that  impression.  He  was  ninety-nine 
years  and  more  than  eleven  months.  He  would  die 
when  he  was  a  hundred. 

Daddy  Campbell's  approaching  death  brought 
back  to  the  older  ones  the  secret  of  his  longevity,  and 
they  told  it  in  whispers  to  those  who  had  a  right  to 
know. 

Though  active  in  many  household  industries, 
Daddy  Campbell  had  had  much  time  on  his  hands,  and 
he  had  employed  it  well.  Ever  looking  forward  with 
hope  to  the  time  of  his  death,  he  had  made  himself  a 
coffin.  It  was  such  a  coffin  as  no  man  in  Whitley 
County  had  ever  been  buried  in,  for  it  was  the  work 
of  years.  The  planks  were  carved  with  curious  em- 
blems, and  the  top  bore,  in  a  tracery  of  oak  leaves, 
the  single  verse,  "  God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner." 
That  coffin,  worked  upon  for  years,  had  been  put 
together  recently,  and,  covered  with  a  strip  of  cot- 
ton cloth,  had  been  put  away  in  the  loft  of  Mr. 
Preston's  smoke  house.  It  was  brought  out  to-day, 
and  Daddy  Campbell  was  sitting  in  it  before  the 
pulpit,  for  his  hundredth  birthday  would  come  be- 
fore the  next  Baptist  meeting  day,  and  he  wanted 
his  funeral  preached  at  the  time  of  a  regular  meet- 
ing. 

It  was  little  enough  to  ask,  and  the  request  met 
with  no  objection.  And,  while  Daddy  Campbell  was 
a  Baptist,  Daddy  Campbell  himself  was  so  catholic 
and  so  widely  known,  and  the  event  was  so  unusual 
in  its  character,  that  the  Methodists  were  invited  to 
share  in  it.  If  James  Fletcher  had  any  doubt  about 
the  propriety  of  giving  up  his  Marsh  Creek  appoint- 
ment to  be  at  No  Bus'ness  on  the  Baptist  day,  that 


Daddy  Campbell's  Funeral  137 

doubt  was  relieved  by  the  assurance  that  all  his  Marsh 
Creek  congregation  would  be  at  No  Bus'ness. 

Besides  these  considerations,  it  should  be  recorded 
that  as  the  month  came  in  on  a  Sunday,  there  was 
the  semi-occasional  conflict  between  the  Methodists 
and  Baptists — for  the  Baptists  "  rule  by  Saturdays  " 
and  the  Methodists  "  rule  by  Sundays."  This  makes 
invariable  confusion  in  all  months  that  begin  on  Sun- 
day, for  the  Baptist  "  second  Saturday  and  Sunday  " 
is  the  same  as  the  Methodists'  third.  And  not  always 
is  there  so  harmonious  a  compromise  at  hand  as  that 
afforded  by  the  funeral  of  Daddy  Campbell. 

The  No  Bus'ness  church  house  was  too  small  to 
hold  the  congregation.  The  seats  were  moved  outside 
and  placed  beneath  the  golden-leaved  beeches ;  a  fence 
was  robbed  of  its  top  rails  and  used  to  extemporize 
more  seats ;  groups  sat  on  mounds  left  by  the  up- 
turned roots  of  trees  or  on  logs  or  grassy  slopes ;  and 
the  horses  that  were  hitched  to  swinging  limbs  could 
be  heard  nickering  at  their  tether  two  hundred  yards 
and  more  up  the  creek  and  down.  It  was  the  largest 
congregation  that  had  gathered  at  No  Bus'ness  for 
many  a  day. 

Funerals  are  always  attractive  affairs  there,  and 
autumn  is  the  best  time  for  them.  Not  infrequently 
they  are  bunched,  and  several  are  preached  in  a  day. 
The  service  at  the  grave  is  usually  brief  and  simple, 
and  often  is  dispensed  with.  Death  is  too  uncertain 
to  admit  of  a  funeral  at  the  time  of  burial.  It  may 
occur  when  the  water  is  high,  and  it  is  impossible  to 
send  for  friends ;  it  may  occur  when  other  members 
of  the  family  are  sick  and  unable  to  attend;  it  may 
occur  when  the  preacher  is  at  a  remote  part  of  his  cir- 


138  Pine  Knot 

cuit.  Death  is  arbitrary,  but  the  funeral  is  elastic.  It 
will  occur  perhaps  six  months  after  the  interment ; 
the  boy  Abraham  Lincoln  sent  from  Indiana  far  into 
Kentucky  for  a  minister  to  preach  the  funeral  of  his 
mother,  several  months  dead.  It  is  so  at  No  Bus'nesS 
and  Pine  Knot.  Indeed,  among  the  notices  "  norated  " 
at  this  very  funeral  of  Daddy  Campbell's  was  one  that 
announced  the  funeral  of  Sile  Parker's  first  wife  at 
Marsh  Creek  on  the  fourth  Sunday ;  and  Sile  was  pres- 
ent with  his  second  wife  and  heard  it. 

Brother  Taulbee  announced  the  purpose  of  the 
meeting.  "  We  air  met,"  said  he,  "  on  a  most  solemn 
occasion.  Our  dear  friend  and  brother,  our  father 
in  Israel,  after  a  long  life  of  sorrow  and  care,  of  weak- 
ness and  infirmity,  feels  in  his  soul  that  afore  we  meet 
here  again  he  will  have  outstripped  us  in  the  narrer 
la-ane  of  life  —  ah !  and  go  to  pe-eple  the  pa-ale 
nations  of  the  dead — ah !  It  is  his  request  that  we 
preach  his  funeral  now,  for  whether  he  dies  right  soon 
or  not,  he  cyan't  live  long.  The  young  may  die — ah ! 
and  the  old  must — ah !  And  hit  ain't  no  more'n  right 
that  a  man  that's  lived  so  long  amongst  us  should 
have  his  last  wish  gratified — ah!  So  we'll  preach 
about  the  dead,  but  we'll  preach  to  the  livin',  and  we 
invite  you  all  to  gether  as  nigh  as  you  kin,  and  we'll 
begin  the  service  by  singin'  *  The  Unclouded  Day.' " 

Zeke  Strunk  here  moved  down  the  aisle  with  a 
gourd  and  a  bucket  of  water  from  the  spring.  He 
started  to  set  it  upon  the  pulpit  acciarding  to  custom, 
but  as  the  collfin  stood  in  the  way  of  those  who  would 
be  passing  up  to  drink,  he  set  it  at  the  foot  of  the 
coflfin,  where  all  through  the  service  it  was  visited  by 
members  of  the  congregation. 


Daddy  Campbell's  Funeral  139 

The  hymn  started  as  a  solo.  It  was  too  well  known 
to  need  lining,  and  Brother  Taulbee  sang  it  in  a  voice 
at  first  wavering  and  then  stronger,  gathering  more 
of  power  as,  first  a  few  on  the  front  row,  then  an  occa- 
sional voice  in  the  audience,  and  at  length  the  whole 
congregation,  gathered  up  its  voice  and  swelled  the 
refrain : 

"  Oh,  they  tell  me  of  a  land  far  beyond  the  skies. 
Oh,  they  tell  me  of  a  land  far  away, 
Oh,  they  tell  me  of  a  land  where  no  storm-clouds  rise, 
Oh,  they  tell  me  of  an  unclouded  day  !  " 

It  is  one  of  the  more  perfect  of  the  mountain  hymns, 
and  one  famous  in  the  region  as  a  favorite  for  singing 
at  executions,  and  also  as  Brother  Taulbee's  favorite. 
The  audience  sang  it  while  seated,  but,  when  it  was 
finished,  rose  and  repeated  the  last  refrain.  It  was 
then  that  Daddy  Campbell's  shrill,  broken  voice  was 
heard,  singing  the  hymn  from  his  coffin. 

The  service  that  followed  had  been  undertaken  in 
good  faith,  but  it  was  carried  out  with  some  embarrass- 
ment. It  was  not  so  easy  to  speak  about  Daddy  Camp- 
bell as  if  he  were  dead,  and  to  have  him  sitting  before 
you  in  his  coffin — sitting  or  reclining  as  the  case  might 
be — for,  while  the  original  purpose  of  the  coffin  in  that 
service  was  as  a  seat,  Daddy  Campbell  sometimes  re- 
clined, both  from  fatigue  and  the  more  nearly  to  realize 
his  relation  to  the  occasion;  and  when  he  lay  down, 
trying  painfully  to  straighten  out  his  poor,  deformed 
legs,  the  audience  watched  narrowly  to  see  the  ex- 
pected but  uncanny  reappearance  of  his  head  above 
the  coffin  side.  But  if  the  sermons  were  somewhat  gen- 
eral in  their  character,  and  treated  of  death  in  general 


140  Pine  Knot 

rather  than  the  prospective  and  quasi-actual  death  of 
Daddy  Campbell,  it  was  not  so  strange,  after  all,  and 
the  funeral  as  a  whole  was  counted  a  success,  especially 
in  view  of  the  ending.  Yet  to  the  ministers,  of  whom 
there  were  a  good  half  dozen,  and  in  less  degree  to  the 
congregation,  the  occasion  was  a  somewhat  strained 
and  difficult  one, 

James  Fletcher  was  the  last  speaker.  He  felt  as 
he  rose  that  his  position  was  peculiarly  hard.  The 
general  subject  of  death  with  its  warnings  and  hopes 
had  been  thoroughly  canvassed,  and  the  only  topic 
that  seemed  to  have  been  left  for  him  was  the  one 
which  must  not  be  omitted,  yet  which  all  the  rest  had 
passed  over  lightly,  with  vague  personal  allusions, 
whether  in  courtesy  to  the  last  speaker  or  because  the 
theme  afforded  peculiar  difficulties — that  of  the  life  and 
character  of  the  deceased.  If  he  had  been  truly  dead, 
there  would  have  been  no  hesitation  about  it,  and  all 
the  preachers  would  have  talked  about  "  the  life  and 
character  of  the  departed."  All  the  audience  felt  the 
embarrassment  and  waited  to  hear  from  the  last 
speaker  the  words  that  had  special  relation  to  the 
occasion. 

As  James  Fletcher  rose,  the  difficulty  of  his  posi- 
tion grew  upon  him.  He  looked  across  to  a  tree  in 
the  rear  beneath  which  sat  Mr.  Buzbee  and  Barbara — 
his  eye  had  often  wandered  there  while  the  others  were 
speaking — and  the  difficulty  increased.  Time  had  been 
when  he  would  have  delivered  his  message  without 
fear  or  favor  in  the  presence  of  all  the  kings  of  earth, 
so  at  least  he  had  thought ;  but  he  felt  strangely  em- 
barrassed in  the  presence  of  the  man  at  whose  feet  he 
sat  as  a  pupil  and  before  whom  he  felt  himself  an  igno- 


Daddy  Campbell's  Funeral  141 

ramus,  the  woman  whom  he  had  come  to  admire,  and 
the  man  whom  he  must  treat  as  dead,  but  who  lay 
there  alive.  For  the  first  time  it  seemed  to  him  a  sham 
and  a  mockery.  He  looked  at  Barbara,  and  thought  he 
read  the  same  in  her  eyes,  and  then  he  was  doubly  sure 
of  it.  He  stammered  and  faltered  and  forgot  what  he 
had  meant  to  say.  He  uttered  a  few  pious  common- 
places, and  felt  a  hypocrite  for  doing  so,  but  he  talked 
because  he  could  not  think.  But  his  spirit  was  rising 
in  disgust  with  himself,  in  shame  for  his  failure,  and 
in  determination  to  say  something  worthy,  if  not  of 
the  occasion,  at  least  of  his  position  as  a  minister  and 
a  man,  and  to  speak  a  seasonable  word  to  the  great, 
curious  throng. 

"  My  friends,"  said  he,  "  it  ain't  easy  to  treat  this 
occasion  just  as  we'd  like.  The  feeling  that  makes  us 
want  to  speak  well  of  the  dead  somehow  shuts  our 
lips  when  they're  living,  and,  while  our  brother,  at  his 
age,  is  standing  on  the  threshold  of  eternity,  it  has  not 
been  possible  for  us  to  forget  that  he  is  here  and  still 
with  us.  My  brothers  have  felt  this,  and  have  left  it  for 
me  to  speak  of  the  life  of  the  man  that  lies  before  us. 
What  I  have  to  say  of  him  I  can  say  in  a  few  words. 
His  life  is  known  to  you  all.  For  years  he  has  borne 
his  burden  without  complaining,  and  has  looked  for- 
ward to  death  with  hope  and  not  with  fear.  If  his  sins 
have  been  great,  the  grace  of  God  has  been  greater. 
If  his  youth  was  wayward,  his  old  age  has  been  kind 
and  gentle.  May  God  give  him  rest  and  peace  after 
the  sorrows  and  mistakes  of  life,  and  may  we  shun  his 
faults  and  imitate  his  kindness,  his  gentleness,  and  his 
love ! " 

He  paused  a  moment,  and  started  to  walk  around 


142  Pine  Knot 

the  coffin  that  he  might  speak  unembarrassed  by  its 
presence.  He  had  said  all  that  he  intended  to  say 
about  Daddy  Campbell,  and  he  would  now  preach  to 
the  living.  As  he  passed  around  the  coffin  his  eyes 
fell  again  on  the  face  within,  and  it  had  changed. 

Fletcher  started  in  surprise.  Then  his  plan  changed. 
He  paused  before  the  coffin,  his  back  turned  to  the 
audience,  and  stood  looking  down  into  the  pale  face 
within.  The  congregation  looked  and  listened,  pain- 
fully intent. 

"  Daddy  Campbell !  "  called  Fletcher.  There  was 
no  answer. 

He  placed  his  hand  on  the  old  man's  brow,  but  the 
eyes  did  not  open.  He  took  him  by  the  hand ;  it  fell 
back  limp.  All  eyes  were  fastened  upon  him  in  a 
strange  and  horrible  fascination.  The  ministers  in  the 
pulpit  rose,  and  also  looked  into  the  coffin.  They  saw 
what  Fletcher  saw.  The  congregation  strained  its  eyes 
and  tried  to  read  what  these  saw  reflected  in  their  faces. 
No  one  spoke,  but  one  of  the  ministers  hurried  out  and 
brought  Mr.  Buzbee.  He  stood  among  them  for  a 
moment  and  bent  over  the  coffin.  The  whole  audience 
was  on  its  feet  by  this  time,  and  every  one  was  craning 
his  neck,  but  there  was  no  movement  forward ;  every 
one  stood  rooted  to  his  place. 

Mr.  Buzbee  placed  his  fingers  on  the  old  man's 
thin  wrist,  but  felt  no  throb.  He  lifted  the  lid  of  one 
eye  and  looked  at  the  pupil,  which  did  not  contract  in 
the  strong  light. 

"  He  is  dead,"  said  he  to  the  ministers ;  "  the  strain 
of  the  long  service  has  been  too  much  for  his  strength. 
It  is  what  he  would  have  wished  for." 

Fletcher  turned  again  and  faced  the  congregation. 


Daddy  Campbell's  Funeral  143 


"  My  friends,"  said  he,  "  our  friend  has  gone.  The 
kind  words  that  our  tongues  could  not  utter  we  can 
now  speak  freely,  and  the  faults  which  we  did  not  like 
to  recall — these  too,  if  we  wish,  we  may  now  discuss. 
But  he  has  passed  where  our  words  can  neither  cause 
him  pleasure  nor  pain,  and  the  lesson  of  his  life  we 
already  know.    Let  us  unite  in  prayer." 

After  the  prayer  the  congregation  passed  around, 
silent  and  awe-stricken,  and  looked  into  the  face  that 
lay  silent  and  irradiate  with  a  joy  which  Daddy  Camp- 
bell's soul  caught  in  the  moment  when  it  came  to  him 
that  he  was  dying. 

There  are  those  about  No  Bus'ness  who  sing  "  The 
Unclouded  Day  "  in  solemn  tones,  for  they  have  heard 
how  its  words  were  the  last  that  mortal  ears  heard  from 
the  lips  of  Daddy  Campbell,  singing  from  his  coffin. 

Barbara  and  her  father  went  home  after  the  funeral 
with  Mr.  Preston.  The  hour  was  late,  for  the  service 
had  been  four  hours  in  length.  They  were  all  tired 
and  hungry,  and  all  were  thinking  solemnly  over  the 
events  of  the  day.  But  even  at  such  a  time  Liberty 
Preston  could  not  restrain  a  feeling  of  disappointment 
that  the  day  must  pass  without  much  opportunity  to 
see  Fletcher,  and  when  she  waited  on  him  and  Bar- 
bara, who  were  seated  side  by  side  at  the  table,  she 
thought  that  she  detected  their  affection  for  each  other 
even  in  the  silence  of  that  solemn  meal,  and  she  hated 
this  new  girl  from  Lexington  who  was  stealing  away 
the  heart  of  her  lover. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

A   VERSATILE   SCHOOLMASTER 

Be  it  remembered,  as  a  partial  offset  to  the  many 
and  pathetic  failures  of  John  Howard  Buzbee  in  life, 
that  his  teaching  of  the  Pine  Knot  school  was  a  real 
success.  A  few  children  were  taken  from  school  be- 
cause he  taught  that  the  earth  is  round,  and  a  number 
who  stopped  out  for  fodder-puUin'  did  not  return,  but 
that  was  always  the  case.  To  offset  this  depletion  of 
numbers,  a  goodly  company  of  young  men  and  women 
from  other  districts  came  in,  learning  of  the  superior 
attainments  of  the  new  teacher  at  Pine  Knot.  As  the 
Pine  Knot  school  had  begun  the  ist  of  September, 
while  many  schools  about  began  in  July,  there  was 
ample  time  for  teachers  whose  schools  had  expired 
to  study  two  months  in  what  the  inhabitants  seriously 
began  to  call  "The  Pine  Knot  College."  These  all 
paid  tuition,  or  were  supposed  to  pay  it.  Some  few 
brought  money,  others  brought  sacks  of  meal  or  pota- 
toes, and  others  produce  of  various  kinds.  It  was  this 
that  kept  Mrs.  Buzbee's  little  store  of  money  from 
diminishing,  for  the  school  money  proper  would  not 
be  paid  before  the  ist  of  January.  It  was  an  unex- 
pected source  of  income,  pitifully  small,  but,  with  the 
utmost  frugality,  and  the  occasional  donations  of 
144 


A  Versatile  Schoolmaster  145 

neighbors,  it  served.  These  donations  were  never  sent 
as  charities;  they  were  in  part  compensations  for  the 
fact  that  the  teacher  did  not  board  around,  and  in 
part  return  for  acts  of  kindness  on  the  part  of  Mr. 
Buzbee. 

These  services  were  as  varied  as  they  were  benefi- 
cent. He  surveyed  a  disputed  Une,  and  thus  settled 
a  quarrel  between  neighbors,  and  each  stopped  at  his 
house  when  next  he  returned  from  the  mill.  He  saved 
the  life  of  Dick  Falkner's  baby  after  the  doctor  gave 
him  up — and  with  nothing  but  hot  baths  and  scalded 
milk — and  Dick  hauled  him  wood  enough  to  last  all 
winter.  He  probed  Ned  Lawton's  wound  after  he  and 
Pete  Calahan  had  their  misunderstanding  about  Rosie 
Jarvis,  and  dissuaded  him  from  avenging  himself  upon 
Pete,  who  had  taken  a  mean  advantage  of  Ned's  dis- 
ability (it  was  this  and  not  the  wound  for  which  Ned 
blamed  him)  to  marry  Rosie.  He  refused  to  preach 
or  to  practice  medicine  or  to  plead  in  court,  yet  he 
sometimes  spoke  at  meetings,  and  often  gave  legal 
advice  to  aid  in  the  settlement  of  disputes,  and  he  rode 
far  at  night  when  horses  were  sent  for  him  to  help 
where  the  doctor  was  at  his  wits'  ends. 

The  first  two  months  were  happy  ones  in  the  home. 
The  handful  of  meal  did  not  disappear  from  the  barrel ; 
the  kindness  of  neighbors  did  not  fail ;  the  fame  of  the 
new  teacher,  who  was  also  preacher,  doctor,  and  judge 
ex  officio,  spread  throughout  the  county,  and  he  was 
sent  for  once  to  Whitley  Courthouse  itself  to  assist  a 
perplexed  doctor,  and  to  save  the  life  of  a  mother  and 
babe. 

For  a  month  he  never  spoke  of  slavery,  and  when 
in  the  course  of  the  second  month  he  began  to  dis- 


146  Pine  Knot 

tribute  tracts,  his  place  in  the  community  was  so  secure 
that  he  was  able  to  say  whatever  he  chose  with  little 
apparent  danger. 

"  Have  ye  heerd,"  asked  Noel  Davis  one  mail  day 
at  Bill  Blake's,  "  that  the  new  teacher  is  a  abolition- 
ist?" 

"  I  heerd  so,  but  I  didn't  pay  no  'tention  to  it," 
said  Mr.  Renfro. 

"  Well,  he  is,"  said  Noel.  "  Here's  a  track  he  gin 
me  hisself." 

"  Did  ye  read  it?  "  asked  Bill  Blake. 

"  I  spelled  out  the  most  of  it,"  said  Noel. 

"  Let  me  have  it,"  said  Renfro.  "  I  got  a  use  for  it. 
Have  you  got  ary  nigger,  Noel  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Well,  I  bet  if  they's  anybody  makes  any  furse 
about  the  new  teacher  bein'  a  abolitionist,  it'll  be 
some  person  that  don't  own  a  nigger." 

"  Do  you  want  him  to  set  your  niggers  up  to  run 
away  ?  "  asked  Noel. 

"  My  niggers  ?  Lord  bless  you,  Noel,  if  he  kin 
git  old  Simon  Peter  and  Dinah  to  run  away,  he'll  git 
a  ree-ward,  that's  what!  I'll  pay  him  a  good  hundred 
dollars." 

"  You  don't  want  Pete  to  leave,  do  you  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  money  in  my  pocket  if  he  did !  But 
no,  I  don't  want  him  to  leave.  Him  and  me  was  nussed 
by  his  old  mammy  to  onct,  and  we  wrastled  and  fit 
like  cats,  fust  him  atop  and  then  me.  I'd  bawl,  if  old 
Pete  was  to  die,  wuss'n  I  would  for  ary  brother  I  got. 
But  if  I'd  hate  to  have  him  leave,  it  wouldn't  be  nothin' 
to  what  he'd  hate  to  leave." 

"  What  you  goin'  to  do  with  that  track  ?  " 


A  Versatile  Schoolmaster  147 

"  I'm  goin'  to  give  it  to  Pete.  I  hain't  got  time  to 
read  it  myself." 

"Kin  Pete  read?" 

"  Yes ;  he  was  raised  in  Kaintuck,  whar  they  ain't 
no  law  agin  learnin'  a  nigger  to  read.  He  larnt  when 
I  did.  He  cyan't  read  to  do  much  good,  but  he'll  read, 
if  I  tell  him  to.  I'll  tell  him  if  he  don't  read  it  I'll  free 
him,  or  lick  him,  one." 

This  word  of  Mr.  Renfro  settled  the  question  for 
some  time.  It  was  currently  said  that  "  if  the  men 
that's  got  the  niggers  don't  raise  no  furse,  them  that 
ain't  got  none  needn't  a-worry."  So  Mr.  Buzbee  dis- 
tributed his  tracts  unmolested,  and  uttered  his  senti- 
ments to  audiences  which,  if  not  sympathetic,  were  at 
least  tolerant. 

"  It  is  as  I  predicted,  my  dear,"  he  said  to  his  wife. 
"  This  is  the  true  field  for  my  efifort.  I  shall  have  here 
a  sympathetic  and  loyal  constituency.  I  will  found  in 
time  a  paper  co-ordinate  with  the  Knoxville  Whig,  and 
co-operative  with  it.  Let  Mr.  Brownlow  continue  to 
plead  for  a  united  nation  against  extreme  proslavery 
men  in  the  South,  and  against  extreme  abolitionists  in 
the  North,  and  I,  pleading  for  the  freedom  of  all  men, 
will  meet  him  in  my  demand  for  a  nation  which,  first 
of  all  united,  must  at  last  be  free." 

"  In  what  respect,  father,  does  that  differ  from  Mr. 
Garrison's  position  ?  "  asked  Barbara. 

"  Radically.  Mr.  Garrison  is  for  instantaneous  free- 
dom without  regard  to  the  unity  of  the  nation  or  any 
other  consideration.  He  maintains  that,  if  slavery  can 
be  justified  for  an  hour,  it  can  be  justified  for  eternity ; 
the  truth  is  that  there  are  many  conditions  in  govern- 
ment, human  and  divine,  which  are  only  justifiable 


148  Pine  Knot 

because  they  are  temporary,  and  in  process  of  evo- 
lution." 

"  Would  he  really  break  up  the  Union  ?  I  supposed 
that  it  was  only  the  South  that  would  do  that  ?  " 

"  Only  the  South  ?  My  dear  daughter,  have  you 
not  read  history?  Who  was  it  that  threatened  to 
secede,  if  Louisiana  should  be  purchased — the  South? 
No,  it  was  Massachusetts.  Who  was  it  introduced  into 
Congress  a  petition  for  the  dissolution  of  the  Federal 
Union?  It  was  John  Quincy  Adams,  who  had  been 
President  of  the  United  States.  Who  was  it  threat- 
ened to  impeach  him — the  North?  It  was  the  South. 
And  who  was  it  that  threatened  to  secede  in  the  time 
of  the  Mexican  War?  It  was  the  North.  I  disap- 
proved of  the  Mexican  War,  and  in  general  agreed 
with  Mr.  Lowell,  but  I  could  not  agree  with  his  avowed 
secessionism : 

"  '  If  I'd  my  way  I  hed  ruther 

We  should  go  to  work  and  part — 
We  take  one  way,  they  take  t'other — 

Guess  it  wouldn't  break  my  heart ! 
Mar  hed  ought  to  put  asunder 

Them  that  God  has  noways  jined, 
And  I  shouldn't  greatly  wonder 

If  there's  thousands  o'  my  mind.' 

"  Has  not  Wendell  Phillips  denounced  the  Consti- 
tution as  a  league  with  death  and  a  covenant  with  hell  ? 
Has  he  not  cursed  his  own  State  for  belonging  to  the 
Union,  and  sharing  in  responsibility  for  its  sins,  say- 
ing, '  I  will  not  say,  God  save  the  Commonwealth  of 
Massachusetts,'  and  then  adding  that  awful  word,  more 
terrible  because  so  calmly  and  deliberately  uttered, 
'  God  damn  the  Commonwealth  of  Massachusetts  '  ? 


A  Versatile  Schoolmaster  149 

"  No  crisis  touching  the  slavery  question  has  failed 
to  bring  out  a  strong  disunion  sentiment  in  the  North. 
Did  not  my  friend  Whittier,  one  of  the  noblest  of  men, 
threaten  the  Union  in  his  poem  on  Texas?    He  said: 

'  Make  our  Union  bond  a  chain  ? 
We  will  snap  its  links  in  twain  ! 
We  will  stand  erect  again  ! ' 

"  Has  it  not  been  in  New  England  that  the  most 
bitter  denunciations  are  hurled  against  Church  and 
state  ?  Is  it  not  there  that  Stephen  Foster  denounces 
the  ministry  as  *  a  brotherhood  of  thieves '  ?  And  do 
not  the  antislavery  resolutions  adopted  at  their  various 
meetings  impoverish  the  English  language  in  their 
effort  to  associate  the  Church  with  piracy,  fornication, 
murder,  and  every  vile  offense?  Are  not  the  basest 
epithets  hurled  against  those  who  belong  to  any  de- 
nomination which  has  churches  in  the  South?  Are 
they  not  called  by  every  name  that  may  be  found  in 
the  criminal  code  ?  " 

"  But  this,  father,"  said  Barbara,  "  was  some  time 
ago — at  the  time  of  the  Mexican  War.  Is  it  still  so 
with  these  Northern  abolitionists  ?  " 

"  Not  with  all,  but  the  same  ones  believe  as  they 
did.  At  Worcester,  Massachusetts,  no  longer  ago  than 
in  1857,  there  was  a  Disunion  Convention  '  to  con- 
sider the  practicability,  probability,  and  expediency  of 
a  separation  between  the  free  and  slave  States.'  It 
was  called  by  the  same  men  who,  in  1845,  declared 
that  *  the  annexation  of  Texas  would  be  a  good  and 
sufficient  cause  for  the  dissolution  of  the  Union.'  At 
this  recent  convention  Garrison  said,  '  I  am  for  the 
speedy  overthrow  of  the  Union.'     And  the  resolu- 


150  Pine  Knot 

tions  said :  '  The  sooner  the  separation  takes  place  the 
more  peaceful  it  will  be ;  but  peace  or  war  is  a  second- 
ary consideration,  in  view  of  our  present  perils.' 

"  I  have  no  sympathy  with  the  men,  North  or 
South,  who  would  recklessly  plunge  this  nation  into 
war  for  the  sake  of  carrying  their  point.  We  are  one 
nation,  and  are  together  involved  in  the  meshes  of 
corporate  responsibility  for  slavery.  It  is  wrong  to 
pit  the  North  against  the  South ;  it  is  wrong  to  say 
that  we  must  free  the  slave  to-day,  though  we  divide 
the  nation  to  do  it ;  it  is  wrong  to  say  that  we,  being 
professed  friends  of  peace,  are  at  liberty  to  provoke 
certain  war  for  the  sake  of  what  we  call  our  principles. 
It  is  wrong  to  say  that  as  abolitionists  we  may  right- 
fully perpetuate  slavery  by  dividing  the  nation.  I  say 
in  all  earnestness  that  abolition  will  come,  and  in  spite 
of  those  who  call  themselves  abolitionists." 

It  was  not  often  that  Mr.  Buzbee  gave  himself  lib- 
erty to  speak  on  these  subjects  at  length.  There  was 
so  little  about  him  to  excite  his  opposition,  and  so 
much  to  engage  his  attention  that  he  almost  let  his 
hobby  alone.  But,  as  the  school  term  wore  on,  several 
things  occurred  of  somewhat  unusual  interest — the  ap- 
proach of  the  presidential  election,  the  advent  of  an 
important  new  pupil,  the  reappearance  of  the  ghost  of 
Deck  Morgan,  and  the  matter  of  the  Swift  Silver  mine. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

GRANNY   white's    REMEDIES 

"  Good  morning,  Granny  White,"  said  Barbara. 
"  I  am  sorry  that  you  are  not  well." 

"  Puny,  honey,  puny.  Fm  powerful  weak  these 
days.  Come  in.  Lord  bless  ye,  dear,  yer  a  sight  fer 
sore  eyes.  Se'  down,"  and  she  wiped  a  chair  with  her 
apron. 

"  I  heard  that  you  were  not  well,  and  wanted  to 
see  me.  I  brought  you  over  some  plum  jelly,"  said 
Barbara. 

"  Bless  your  dear  life,  ef  that  ain't  kind !  Well, 
honey,  I  ain't  well,  and  I  don't  never  look  to  be.  But 
it's  to  keep  you  from  not  bein'  well  that  I  sent  fer  ye." 

"  I  ?    I'm  all  right,  granny." 

"  Wait  till  I  put  this  dollar  in  the  churn,  and  I'll 
tell  ye." 

"  What  do  you  put  the  dollar  in  for  ?  " 

"  That's  fer  the  witches,  honey.  Hit's  a  heap  better 
than  a  horseshoe.  Now  Jim  Ballard  that  uster  be  a 
witch-doctor  over  on  Troublesome,  he  never  used 
nothin'  but  a  red-hot  horseshoe.  But  that  ain't  half 
so  good  as  a  silver  dollar.  I've  kep'  this  dollar  for 
forty  year,  and  I  never  used  it  for  nothin'  else  but 
jest  to  fetch  the  butter." 

"  151 


152  Pine  Knot 

"  Do  you  use  it  every  time  you  churn  ?  " 

"  Sartin,  dear.  Now  I'll  churn  and  talk  to  ye  all  to 
onct.    How  be  ye,  honey  ?  " 

"  I'm  well  and  much  interested  in  what  you  tell  me 
about  witches.    Who  do  you  say  is  witch-doctor?" 

"  Tom  Lawson  is  now.  He's  jest  bought  the  charm 
from  Jim  Ballard.  Jim  Ballard,  sence  he  got  elected 
justice  of  the  peace,  didn't  keer  to  have  it  no  more. 
He  sold  it  for  a  yearlin'  bull  that  Tom  Lawson  had." 

"What  is  the  charm?" 

"  They  don't  nobody  know,  honey.  Every  doctor 
has  his  own  charm.  And  the  charms  is  different.  Now 
mine,  I  couldn't  tell  to  you.  But  I  kin  tell  it  to  a  man. 
And  it  was  from  a  man  I  got  it.  And  he's  got  to  tell 
it  to  a  woman.  And  when  you  tell  the  charm,  then 
you  lose  it.  Jim  Ballard  cyan't  charm  the  witches  no 
more  sence  he  sold  the  charm.  But  I  kin  tell  you 
some  things,  and  I'm  goin'  ter.  You  know  Tom  Law- 
son,  don't  ye  ?  " 

"The  blacksmith?" 

"  Yes.  He's  mighty  shifty.  He  makes  a  heap 
outen  his  blacksmithin'  and  his  witch-doctorin'." 

"  How  much  does  he  charge  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  cyan't  charge  no  money  for  the  witch- 
doctorin'.  That  would  spile  the  charm.  But  he  gits 
it  back  on  his  reputation.  But,  I  tell  ye,  I'm  a  better 
witch-doctor  than  he  is." 

"  I  never  heard  that  you  were  a  witch-doctor, 
granny,"  said  Barbara. 

"  No,  you  heerd  I  was  a  witch,  didn't  ye  ?  And 
Lem  Parker  says  that's  what  ailed  me  when  I  was 
tuck  this  last  time  with  rheumatix  in  my  hip  jint.  He 
says  he  fired  a  silver  dime  at  a  black  cat  he  seed  givin' 


Granny  White's  Remedies  153 

his  cows  a  spell,  and  that  he  broke  her  hind  laig.  That 
was  the  day  I  tuck  down,  and  he  says  the  spell  is  done 
gone  now.  Well,  I  tell  ye  what,  I  hain't  no  witch,  but 
I  could  be  a  witch  ef  I  was  to  try.  They  hain't  nobody 
that  kin  doctor  a  thing  but  kin  give  a  thing,  don't  ye 
see  ?  They  hain't  no  doctor  but  could  kill  as  sartin  as 
cure,  ef  he  was  to  try.  Is  they  now  ?  And  they  hain't 
no  witch-doctor  but  could  be  a  witch,  ef  she  wanted  to. 
And  I  jest  say  to  you  I  didn't  pester  Lem  Parker's 
cows,  but  ef  he  don't  look  out  how  he  shoots  around, 
his  chickens'Il  all  have  the  gapes,  that's  what  they'll 
have ! " 

"  Oh,  I'm  sure  you  wouldn't  hurt  them,  granny !  " 

"  Not  'less  I  have  obleeged  to,  honey.  But  I  want 
to  tell  you  about  yourself.    They're  atter  you." 

"Who,  the  witches?" 

"  One  witch." 

"  What  witch  is  that  ?  " 

"  That's  a  witch  that's  in  love  with  your  sweet- 
heart." 

"  My  sweetheart,  granny?  " 

"  Sartin,  honey." 

"Who  is  he?" 

"  You  needn't  a  let  on  lack  you  don't  know.  And 
I  ain't  the  ony  one  that  knows,  nuther.  And  some  that 
knows  don't  like  it.  But  I  kin  fix  'em,  honey.  I  kin 
fix  'em  jest  as  easy  as  I  kin  take  off  a  wart  or  cure  the 
thrash." 

"  How  do  you  do  that  ?  " 

"Which?" 

"The  wart  or  thrash?" 

"  Why,  for  thrash,  you  git  a  child  that  ain^t  never 
seed  his  pappy,  and  have  him  blow  in  the  mouth  of  the 


154  Pii^e  Knot 

■'■'■■        -  ...■,■■■  ■  — —  ■■■,  -  ^ 

child  that's  got  the  thrash,  and  that'll  cure  him.  And 
for  the  warts,  you  find  out  how  old  the  person  is,  and 
cut  so  many  notches  in  a  straight-growin'  stick,  a 
maple  ef  hit's  a  woman  and  a  ash  ef  hit's  a  man,  and 
grows  up,  by  that  time  the  warts'U  be  gone.  And  for 
asthmy  in  a  little  chap,  you  cut  a  sourwood  stick  and 
cut  it  jest  the  lenth  of  the  child,  and  lay  the  stick 
away,  and  when  the  child  grows  longer  than  the  stick, 
the  asthmy'Il  git  well," 

"  Ah,  granny,  I'm  afraid  the  reason  of  that  is  that 
the  child  outgrows  the  disease." 

"  They's  a  heap  o'  that  in  all  sorts  of  doctorin', 
child.  But  if  the  doctor's  goin'  to  git  the  credit  of  it  in 
the  one  case,  I  don't  see  no  reason  why  he  shouldn't  in 
all.  I've  knowed  people  to  git  well  of  a  heap  o'  things 
when  they  wa'n't  the  least  excuse  for  it.  I've  knowed 
people  to  git  well  o'  the  toothache  from  usin'  old 
'Liphalet  Lawson's  cure  for  the  toothache." 

"What  was  that?" 

"  You  go  to  some  certain  field,  no  odds  what  field ; 
you  pick  three  certain  kinds  o'  weeds,  no  odds  what 
weeds ;  you  grind  'em  up  jes'  so  fine,  no  odds  how  fine  ; 
you  put  'em  in  the  tooth,  no  odds  what  tooth ;  and  hit'll 
git  well,  no  odds  when," 

The  two  women  laughed  together — the  young  girl 
a  hearty  laugh,  and  the  old  crone  a  cracked,  high- 
pitched  cackle. 

"  I  can  tell  you  a  better  cure  than  that,"  laughed 
Barbara.  "  I  know  what  root  you  can  hold  in  your 
hand  and  it  will  cure  the  toothache," 

"  Tell  me,  honey,  tell  me,"  said  granny  eagerly. 

"  The  root  of  the  tooth,"  replied  Barbara. 

It  took  Granny  White  a  full  quarter  of  a  minute 


Granny  White's  Remedies  155 

to  see  this  joke,  but  when  she  saw  it  she  laughed  and 
laughed,  stopping  every  little  while  afterward  as  the 
interview  proceeded,  to  laugh  again. 

"  That's  the  way  Tom  Lawson'd  best  cure  'em,"  she 
said. 

"  Does  he  pull  teeth  ?  " 

"  Sartin,  bein'  a  blacksmith." 

"  But  I  don't  see  what  that  has  to  do  with  it,"  said 
Barbara. 

"  He  kin  make  his  own  pullers.  Folks  comes  a 
long  ways  to  have  him  pull  their  teeth — fur's  they  do 
to  have  their  horses  shod.  The  reason  his  craps  is 
so  well  hoed  is  his  blacksmithin'." 

"How  is  that?" 

"  Well,  he  don't  charge  'em  no  money.  He  jest 
swaps  work  with  the  men  that  comes  to  have  shoein' 
done.  They  fetch  their  own  shoes  and  nails,  and  he's 
got  coal  right  handy,  and  the  men  that  comes  to  have 
the  horses  shod  works  in  the  field  hoein'  corn  while  he 
shoes  the  beastis  or  fixes  the  wagons." 

"  I  should  think  the  advantage  would  be  on  the 
other  side  in  such  an  exchange,"  said  Barbara. 

"  You  wouldn't  think  so,  if  ever  you  seed  Tom 
Lawson's  woman  hoe  corn." 

"Does  she  hoe?" 

"  She  kin  turn  up  more  dirt  with  the  hoe  in  a  day 
than  ary  one  woman  or  man  this  side  the  mountain. 
And  the  man  that  gits  his  wagon  fixed  has  got  to 
hoe  'longside  of  her  while  Tom  fixes  the  wagon,  ef  it 
is  a  wagon.  And  Tom  never  was  no  hand  to  pitch 
in  to  work  at  his  forge  like  killin'  snakes,  especially 
when  hoein'  's  goin'  on  jest  the  same  and  some  other 
person  a-doin'  it.    And  so  he  gits  to  work  sorter  easy. 


156  Pine  Knot 

and  makes  up  his  far,  and  like's  not  has  to  send  the 
chaps  to  the  hill  whar  he  digs  the  coal  fur  some  coal, 
and  then  when  he  gits  to  work  they  say  that  he 
watches  his  woman  and  the  man  he's  workin'  for 
streakin'  it  back  and  forth  acrost  the  cornfield,  she 
about  eight  hills  ahead,  and  he  a-puffin'  and  a-tryin'  to 
keep  up !  Tom  always  hits  the  anvil  right  hard  when 
they  come  to  his  eend  of  the  rows,  but  they  do  say 
that  he  don't  hurry  lack  the  smallpox  was  atter  him 
when  they're  at  the  other  eend  out  of  sight  and  hearin' 
of  the  shop.  I  tell  ye,  blacksmithin'  and  witch-doc- 
terin'  together  kin  be  made  profitable,  ef  a  man  has 
got  a  woman  that  kin  hoe  corn  lack  Tom's ! " 

"  Such  a  woman  must  be  a  treasure,"  laughed  Bar- 
bara. 

"  Yes,  an'  she  kin  plow,  too,  and  if  hit's  the  season, 
Tom  hitches  up  his  nag  and  the  feller's  that  comes  to 
have  the  work  done.  He  keeps  two  bull-tongue  plows 
and  two  side-hills  jest  for  that  purpose.  And  hit  ain't 
no  diflference.  She's  allers  about  a  hundred  yards  in 
the  lead.  But  she  ain't  got  no  manners.  I've  seed  her 
at  the  table,  and  she  cyan't  break  a  pone  without  gittin' 
her  fingers  in  it." 

"  Well,  granny,  and  am  I  in  danger  of  being  be- 
witched ?  " 

"  You're  in  danger  of  bewitchin'  some  person, 
that's  shore." 

"Who  is  it?" 

"  The  preacher.  He  'lows  the  sun  rises  and  sets 
with  you." 

"  Oh,  shame,  granny !     You  must  be  mistaken !  " 

"  I  hain't,  and  you  know  I  hain't.  He  loves  you, 
same  as  I'm  a-tellin'  ye.     Now,  as  I've  been  a-sayin', 


Granny  White's  Remedies  157 

they's  some  charms  theft  a  man  kin  tell  to  a  man,  lack 
what  Jim  Ballard  has  sold  to  Tom  Lawson,  but  whether 
hit'll  work  now,  I  ain't  sure.  And  they's  some  a  man's 
got  to  tell  to  a  woman,  or  a  woman  to  a  man.  That's 
my  kind." 

"  But  you  told  me  several  charms,  granny." 

"  Oh,  them's  about  things  that  witches  hain't  got 
nothin'  to  do  with.  Them  hain't  my  real  charm.  I 
cyan't  tell  that  to  you,  but  I  kin  tell  it  to  the  preacher. 
But  that's  the  trouble,  honey;  he  don't  have  confi- 
daince  lack  he'd  ort  ter  have.  And  so,  ef  he  gits  to 
whar  he  needs  it  right  bad,  you  got  to  tell  him  that 
he's  got  to  come  to  me." 

"  But,  granny,  suppose  I  do  not  care  for  him  ?  " 

"  But  you  have  obleeged  to  keer  for  him,  hain't 
you?" 

"  Why,  no !  " 

"  Why,  ary  gal  in  Pine  Knot  would  give  her  haid  to 
git  him." 

"  But  suppose  I  care  for  some  one  else  ?  " 

"Ye  don't,  do  ye?" 

"  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure.    I  wish  you'd  tell  me." 

"  Whar  does  he  live,  honey  ?  He  ain't  round  here, 
is  he?  Is  he  off  to  Lexington?  Is  he  one  of  them 
blue-grass  fellers  ?  Is  he  rich,  and  is  he  dressed  up  in 
store  clothes,  and  has  a  nigger  to  black  his  boots  and 
another  to  fetch  his  horse  to  the  door  ?  Is  he,  honey  ? 
He  is,  ain't  he  ?  And  you  don't  know,  honey,  whether 
you  keer  for  him  or  not?  And  then  I  reckon  you 
don't  know  right  shore  whether  he  keers  for  you,  do 
ye,  honey?  He  lives  in  a  big  house,  does  he,  honey? 
And  lots  o'  niggers  standin'  round  to  keep  the  flies 
off  ye  at  the  table  with  breshes  made  o'  peacocks' 


158  Pine  Knot 

feathers?  And  where  they  have  horses  that  you  wipe 
your  handkercher  on  and  hit  don't  sile  it  ?  That's  the 
kind  of  a  man  he  is,  is  he,  honey?  Oh,  I'm  afeard 
the  preacher's  got  a  hard  row  to  hoe,  and  you,  too! 
I  ain't  shore  but  I  ort  to  be  a  gyuardin'  the  preacher 
agin'  wuss  things  than  I  was  a-thinkin' !  I  ain't  no 
fortune-teller,  honey.  I  ain't  got  no  peep-stone  to  see 
what's  a-goin'  on  inside  o'  folks,  nor  way  oflf  in  other 
places.  I  ain't  shore  as  I  kin  help  you,  honey.  But, 
honey,  look  out  when  ye  cross  the  road  whar  hit  forks 
below  the  house  yer  livin'  in,  and  don't  let  the  shadder 
of  that  old  dead  tree  fall  on  yer.  And  ye  won't  play 
witch  the  preacher's  heart,  nor  break  it,  will  ye  ?  " 

Barbara  hesitated,  and  then  said,  "  No,  granny,  I 
won't,  if  I  can  help  it." 

"  But  tell  me  about  this  fine  blue-grass  feller ;  does 
he  love  you  ?  " 

It  seemed  strange  to  Barbara  afterward  that  she 
should  have  made  a  confidant  of  this  withered  old 
crone,  yet  the  true  heart  of  Granny  White  was  visible 
to  one  who  could  see  it  through  her  superstition  and 
ignorance,  and  Barbara  told  her. 

"  He  was  all  that  you  say,  and  the  finest-looking 
man!  O  granny,  you  should  have  seen  him  on 
horseback !  and  his  father  was  neighbor  to  my  grand- 
father. We  were  much  together  as  we  grew  up,  for  I 
have  lived,  you  know,  in  Lexington,  for  most  of  my 
life.  We  were  always  friends,  and  nothing  more, 
though  as  we  grew  older  we  seemed  always  to  have 
belonged  to  each  other.  It  was  this  miserable  political 
aflfair  that  separated  us.  He  is  an  ardent  friend  of  the 
South,  while  his  father  is  strongly  for  the  Union.  He 
had  quarreled  with  his  own  father  in  their  talk  about 


Granny  White's  Remedies  159 

the  duty  of  the  South  to  secede  if  Lincoln  is  elected. 
Telling  me  about  it,  he  used  hard  words  concerning  the 
abolitionists.  He  was  hot  and  angry,  and  his  words 
were  bitter  and  unjust.  He  has  hardly  known  my 
father  all  these  years.  My  father  has  been  little  at 
home,  and  we — well,  we  all  love  my  father  dearly,  but 
his  views  were  not  those  of  my  grandfather,  and  we 
talked  little  about  them.  So  I  do  not  know  that  my 
friend  really  knew  about  him.  But  it  hurt  me  to  have 
him  speak  as  he  did,  and  I  spoke  hastily  and  angrily. 
I  did  wrong,  I  know,  for  I  am  sure  that  had  I  spoken 
gently,  telling  him  my  father's  position,  he  would  have 
spoken  as  a  gentleman  in  return.  But  he  was  angry, 
and  so  was  I,  and  he  said  that,  having  quarreled  with 
his  own  father  for  the  sake  of  his  principles,  he  was 
in  no  mood  to  retract  the  truth  for  the  sake  of  any 
other  man.    So  I  sent  him  away." 

"Did  he  come  back?" 

"  No,  my  father  came  a  few  days  after,  and  we  left 
Lexington  to  come  here." 

"Has  he  writ?" 

"  No." 

"  Nor  ye  didn't  write  to  him  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  I  ain't  much  at  tellin'  how  to  manage  them 
aflfairs,  honey,  but,  if  I  kin,  I'll  help  ye.  But  look 
here,  honey.    Did  ye  ever  hear  o'  the  Alamance  ?  " 

"  I  think  not." 

"  Like  as  not.    Nor  of  King's  Mountain  ?  " 

"  I  have  heard  of  that.  There  was  a  battle  there 
in  the  Revolution,  I  think." 

"  I  should  think  they  war !  Hit  was  thar  that  Corn- 
wallis  got  the  best  part  of  his  army  so  bad  licked  he 


i6o  Pine  Knot 

had  to  surrender  to  Washington.  My  daddy  was  that, 
and  helped  lick  him.  And  he  was  at  the  Alamance,  too, 
whar  the  Revolution  fust  broke  out." 

"  I  thought  that  the  Revolution  broke  out  at  Lex- 
ington." 

"  Is  that  what  the  books  says  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  the  books  lies.  The  Revolution  started 
right  in  these  mountings,  that's  whar  hit  started.  My 
daddy  helped  to  start  it.  They  stood  up  and  fit  the 
King's  sojers  till  their  powder  gin  out,  and  two  hun- 
dred of  them  got  killed — a  hundred  of  them  and  a  hun- 
dred of  the  British.  Then  they  come  furder  back  in 
the  hills,  and  my  daddy  come  here  to  git  away  from 
Tryon,  the  old  sinner!  And  did  ye  ever  hear  of  Old 
Hickory  at  N'Orleans?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  have  heard  of  Jackson's  great  victory." 

"  Well,  my  old  man  was  thar.  I  started  him  oflf, 
saying,  '  Don't  ye  come  back  till  this  hull  big  country 
is  free  from  the  trompin'  feet  of  the  tyrant ! '  That's 
what  I  said.  And  he  didn't !  Now,  honey,  I  jest  want 
to  tell  ye  one  thing.  I  hain't  kep'  up  with  things  much 
sence  then.  The  Revolution  and  Old  Hickory  at 
N'Orleans  is  about  the  last  big  things  I've  heerd  tell 
about.  But,  honey,  this  country  has  cost  too  much  to 
be  busted  up  by  them  hot-headed  men  in  the  North 
and  them  in  the  South.  That  young  feller  in  the  blue 
grass'll  know  a  heap  more'n  he  knows  now,  ef  he  tries 
to  bust  up  this  Union !  " 

"  But  he's  a  very  nice  young  man,  for  all  that,"  said 
Barbara. 

"  Yes,  and  so's  the  preacher.  But,  la,  honey,  they 
hain't  no  accountin'  for  gals  fallin'  in  love.    And  when 


Granny  White's  Remedies  i6i 

they  love  and  are  loved,  they  hain't  but  one  thing  to 
do,  whether  the  country  holds  together  or  splits." 

Barbara  went  her  way,  and  Granny  White  pondered 
long. 

"  They  ain't  no  tellin'  what  a  gal  will  do,"  she  ob- 
served, as  she  drew  a  coal  from  the  fireplace,  and  patted 
it  down  upon  the  loose  twisted  tobacco  in  her  cob 
pipe.  "  The  preacher's  the  neardest,  and  that  counts 
fur  a  heap,  and  the  other  feller's  got  the  clo'es  and  the 
big  house  and  the  niggers,  and  that  counts  fur  a  heap. 
But  sometimes  both  them  things  works  backurds,  and 
they  jest  ain't  no  tellin'.  Ef  the  preacher  don't  git  to 
pesterin'  her  and  make  her  say  no,  and  then  she  gits 
sorter  lonesome  bein'  away  from  the  other  feller,  and 
gits  to  sorter  likin'  the  preacher — and  she  likes  him 
some,  a'ready — hit'll  be  all  right.  But  like  as  not  he'll 
pitch  right  in  lack  he  was  a-preachin',  and  time  he  gits 
to  the  arousements  she  won't  be  thar.  And  then  if 
t'other  feller  was  to  write  to  her,  mebby  that  would 
make  a  difference.  Letters  does  a  heap  more'n  the 
folks  theirselves,  a  heap  o'  times.  You  don't  have  to 
keep  yer  hair  slick  when  yer  writin'  letters.  But  I'd 
like  to  see  the  preacher  git  her,  ef  'twant  for  nary  other 
reason  than  to  see  his  shirts  done  up  right.  But  I 
know  how  to  find  out." 

She  took  two  grains  of  green  coflfee,  and  tied  a 
thread  about  one  of  them.  "  That's  the  preacher,"  she 
said,  "  and  t'other  one's  that  blue-grass  feller." 

She  took  down  from  the  rafter  a  round-bottomed 
bottle,  suspended  by  a  string,  and  dipped  the  tip  of  a 
feather  into  its  contents,  the  oil  from  the  liver  of  a 
black  cat,  killed  in  the  dark  of  the  moon.  With  it  she 
anointed  each  of  the  kernels  alike,  and  dropped  the  two 


1 62  Pine  Knot 

into  the  neck  of  a  cymlin,  which  she  filled  with  water 
dipped  from  the  east  side  of  the  spring,  which  she  first 
stirred  to  a  roil  and  then  allowed  to  clear. 

Then  she  muttered  some  half-articulate  incantation 
over  the  little  gourd,  and  set  it  away. 

"  Hit  mustn't  upset,"  she  said,  "  or  they'll  be  a 
heap  o'  trouble.  And  I  mustn't  look  at  it  till  the  sign's 
in  the  heart,  or  hit  won't  be  no  good ;  and  ef  the  sign 
was  goin'  down  hit'd  work  backurds.  But  when  the 
sign's  in  the  heart,  comin'  up,  I'll  look,  and  the  one 
that's  swelled  the  most's  a-goin'  to  git  her." 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE   HEART    OF   JOE   LAKES 

Not  till  after  her  visit  to  Granny  White  did  Bar- 
bara see  anything  sinister  in  the  entrance  of  Liberty 
Preston  into  her  father's  school.  At  first  it  had  seemed 
a  satisfactory  arrangement  all  round.  The  Lakes — 
they  pronounced  their  name  "  Lacks  " — were  glad  to 
have  her  at  their  house  to  board,  especially  Joe  Lakes, 
who  was  well  in  love  with  her,  and  his  sister  Polly, 
who  was  Liberty's  dearest  friend,  and  who  wanted  Lib- 
erty for  a  sister.  As  for  the  Buzbees,  they  were  glad 
of  every  new  pupil  from  outside  the  district.  It  raised 
the  grade  of  the  school  and  brought  in  money  or  pro- 
visions. Mr.  Buzbee  had  given  over  the  lower  grades 
almost  entirely  to  his  older  pupils  who  had  been  teach- 
ers or  who  were  planning  to  teach,  overseeing  their 
instruction,  however,  and  outlining  methods  by  which 
their  work  was  to  be  made  effective. 

So  widely  had  his  fame  spread  that  it  was  not 
counted  strange  that  Liberty  should  come  from  No 
Bus'ness,  but  only  that  coming  she  should  not  have 
come  sooner,  for  the  term  was  ready  to  begin  its  last 
half.  Still,  she  would  be  in  time  to  do  some  good 
work  in  her  classes  and  to  share  in  all  the  glory  of  the 
exhibition,  where  her  voice  would  bear  a  leading  part. 

163 


164  Pine  Knot 

But  there  were  a  few  who  came  to  suspect  that  it  was 
neither  the  love  of  learning  nor  the  desire  to  share  in 
the  exhibition  that  had  brought  Liberty  Preston  to 
Pine  Knot,  but  a  determination  to  keep  track  of  her 
lover,  whom  she  had  not  seen  since  Daddy  Campbell's 
funeral,  and  whose  conduct  then,  as  she  dwelt  upon  it, 
was  quite  enough  to  show  that  "that  stuck-up  gal  from 
Lexington,  that  set  down  at  the  first  table  with  the 
men,"  had  altogether  too  strong  a  hold  upon  his  affec- 
tions. 

But  if  the  day  of  Daddy  Campbell's  funeral  had 
brought  her  occasion  of  sorrow  and  distrust,  it  had  en- 
hanced in  her  sight  the  greatness  of  the  man  she  loved. 
The  audience  had  not  read  aright  the  embarrassment 
of  Fletcher  in  his  introductory  words,  nor  his  intention 
in  walking  around  the  coffin.  They  had  not  seen  his 
indecision,  his  constraint,  his  change  of  plan.  They  re- 
membered only  his  quiet  beginning,  his  brief  but  ade- 
quate characterization  of  the  man  whose  funeral  he 
was  preaching,  and  then  the  dramatic  call  to  the  soul 
that  had  departed,  and  the  hush  that  fell  upon  the  great 
throng  when  he  knelt  in  prayer  on  the  threshold  of 
the  world  into  which  the  spirit  had  flown.  The  im- 
pression at  the  time  had  been  profound,  and  it  grew  as 
the  incident  was  told  and  retold,  and  in  every  telling 
of  it  James  Fletcher  was  easily,  next  to  Daddy  Camp- 
bell, the  hero  of  the  occasion.  It  raised  him  also  in 
the  estimation  of  his  brethren  in  the  ministry,  to  whom 
it  seemed  that  such  a  sign  was  a  peculiar  mark  of  a 
call  to  preach.  All  this  Liberty  understood,  and  her 
love  for  Fletcher  grew  accordingly.  But  all  this  was 
wormwood  and  gall  to  her  if  he  belonged  to  another. 

Liberty  Preston  was  a  bright  pupil.    She  had  not 


The  Heart  of  Joe  Lakes  165 

attended  school  for  several  years,  but  she  stood  with 
the  most  advanced  pupils.  And  she  could  spell.  A 
graduate  from  the  district  school  of  No  Bus'ness,  she 
knew  the  Old  Blueback  from  cover  to  cover,  and  on 
Fridays,  when  the  school  chose  up,  she  was  the  first 
one  chosen  and  the  last  one  down.  She  had  better 
clothes  than  most  of  the  girls ;  her  white  sunbonnet 
was  a  wonder  in  its  wealth  of  starched  frills ;  her  hair, 
instead  of  perpetually  falling  down,  and  needing  con- 
stant twisting  and  securing  with  a  comb,  held  itself  in 
place  with  its  own  curliness  and  a  tortoise-shell  comb 
which  was  the  envy  of  all  the  girls ;  and  when  it  fell, 
as  at  times  it  must  when  playing  at  recess,  it  fell  in 
such  bewitching  disarray  about  her  rosy  cheeks  and 
pretty  pink  ears,  that  one  might  have  wished  to  see 
it  fall  more  frequently.  And  when  she  sang,  the  rafters 
of  the  old  schoolhouse  rang.  She  was  a  girl  of  de- 
cision, too,  and  her  black  eyes  could  snap  in  anger  or 
what  passed  for  anger  when  any  of  the  large  boys 
attempted  to  be  free  with  her;  for  while  she  did  her 
best  to  make  them  show  their  love  for  her,  and  she  had 
lovers  other  than  Joe  Lakes,  and  it  was  a  small  task 
to  tempt  them  into  an  exhibition  of  their  affection,  she 
gave  favors  to  none,  wherefore  they  loved  her  the  more 
madly,  and  envied  Joe,  who  lived  in  the  same  house 
with  her,  and  Fletcher,  for  whom  some  thought  she 
cared. 

At  no  time  did  Liberty  put  herself  in  the  way  of 
James  Fletcher,  although  they  came  to  have  some 
things  in  common.  She,  as  the  leading  singer,  and 
he,  as  practically  an  assistant  teacher,  had  frequent 
need  for  consultation,  and  her  conduct  was  above  re- 
proach.   Only  once  did  she  single  him  out  in  any  way, 


1 66  Pine  Knot 

and  that  was  a  pleasure  to  remember.  Neither  of  them 
was  accustomed  to  participate  in  the  noontime  games, 
but  one  day  when  they  were  playing  "  weavilly  wheat," 
that  quaint  old  motion  game,  whose  hero  "  Charlie  " 
may  well  have  been  originally  the  Highland  "  Bonnie 
Prince  Charlie,"  that  day  they  prevailed  on  Liberty 
to  join  them.    Round  and  round  they  circled,  singing : 

'  I  won't  have  none  of  your  weavilly  wheat, 

And  I  won't  have  none  of  your  barley, 
I  won't  have  none  of  your  weavilly  wheat 
To  bake  a  cake  for  Charlie." 

It  came  her  turn  to  choose,  and  she  turned  her 
head  and  saw  Fletcher  standing  in  the  door. 

The  hearts  of  several  young  men  sank  from  hope 
to  disappointment  when  she  called :  "  O  Mr.  Jim 
Fletcher !  You  got  to  come  and  help  me  out !  They've 
got  me  into  this  game,  and  I  want  you  for  my  pard- 
ner ! " 

Jim  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then,  laughing,  came 
and  took  her  hand,  and  went  round  once.  Then  he 
chose  his  own  successor,  and  said  to  Liberty :  "  I 
reckon  they  can  spare  you  and  me  now;  it's  time  for 
us  to  look  over  that  song  you  want  them  to  sing." 

They  walked  ofiF  to  the  schoolhouse  together.  Joe 
Lakes  ground  his  teeth. 

Joe  was  very  glum  at  supper  that  night,  but  Lib- 
erty was  sprightly  enough.  As  Joe  was  moving  away 
sullenly  after  the  meal,  Liberty  slipped  out  and  stopped 
him  at  the  spring. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  want  to  run  oflf  that  way 
for,"  she  pouted,  "  running  away  like  you  was  mad." 

"  I  be  mad,"  said  Joe  sullenly. 


The  Heart  of  Joe  Lakes  167 

"Be  you?    Who  at?" 

"  I  ain't  a-goin'  to  tell." 

"  It  ain't  at  me,  is  it  ?  It  surely  can't  be  at  me,  is 
it,  Joe?" 

Joe  looked  at  her,  and  his  eyes  met  hers.  He  was 
a  coward,  no  doubt,  as  a  thousand  men  have  been  in 
like  places,  but  he  had  not  the  heart  to  tell  her  the 
truth.  "  No,"  he  said,  "  hit  ain't  at  you — that  is,  not 
adzackly." 

"  Oh,  I'm  so  glad !  "  said  Liberty.  "  I'd  feel  awful 
bad  if  you  was  mad  at  me,  Joe !  Now  tell  me,  who  is 
it?" 

"  Hit's  Jim  Fletcher,"  said  Joe  doggedly. 

"  Is  it  ?  "  asked  Liberty.  "  Well,  now  that's  funny. 
I'm  sorter  mad  at  him  myself,  but  you  mustn't  tell 
nobody.  Say,  Joe,"  she  added,  as  Joe  looked  up,  glad 
enough  that  she  should  be  in  any  wise  mad  at  Jim 
Fletcher,  "  you  wouldn't  like  to  play  a  real  good  joke 
on  Jim  Fletcher,  would  you  ?  " 

"  Like  it  ?  By  ginger,  I'd  like  to  play  anything  on 
him !  I'd  saw  through  the  under  side  of  a  foot-log 
if  I  knowed  he'd  cross  it !  I'd — I'd — I'd  do  'most  any- 
thing ! "  It  was  Joe's  inventive  genius  that  stopped 
him  with  his  enumeration  of  a  single  prank;  it  was 
not  his  inclination. 

"  Oh,  no,  Joe !  That  wouldn't  be  fun.  That's  too 
old,  and  like  as  not  he  wouldn't  be  the  one  that  would 
cross.  I  believe  I  know  something  that  would  be  lots 
of  fun,  but  it  would  take  a  real  brave  man  to  do  it." 

"  Brave,"  said  Joe,  rashly.  "  If  you  want  some 
one  that's  brave,  I'm  with  you  till  the  cows  come 
home ! " 

Then  they  conferred  long  together,  Joe  sometimes 


1 68  Pine  Knot 

protesting  and  she  reassuring,  or  he  suggesting  pos- 
sibilities of  failure  which  she  met  with  expedients.  At 
length  they  arranged  it,  and  Joe  entered  upon  his 
task  with  real  or  apparent  enthusiasm.  Poor  Joe !  He 
is  not  the  first  man  who  has  gone  into  danger  for  love's 
sake  that  he  might  win  thereby  the  success  of  a  rival. 
But  this  aspect  of  the  case  Joe  did  not  suspect. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   SAME   GHOST   OR   ANOTHER 

"  There's  a  good  deal  of  excitement  about  the 
election,"  said  James  Fletcher  that  night,  as  he  sat  be- 
fore the  fire  at  Mr.  Buzbee's,  slowly  spelling  out  his 
Greek. 

"  This  election,"  replied  Mr.  Buzbee,  "  will  be  a 
great  watershed  of  history.  We  shall  elect  Abraham 
Lincoln.  We  shall  thus  say  to  the  Nation,  '  There 
shall  be  no  more  slavery  in  the  Territories.'  And  the 
inexorable  Providence,  which  makes  of  one  good 
choice  not  merely  an  opportunity  but  a  necessity,  will 
say,  '  That  which  you  have  declared  concerning  the 
Territories  you  shall  yet  make  true  of  the  States.'  It 
may  come  soon,  and  it  may  come  later,  but  the  doom 
of  slavery  is  sealed,  and  these  mountains  will  have 
their  just  glory  in  its  downfall." 

"  I  have  never  yet  seen,"  said  Barbara,  "  how  the 
mountains  have  any  special  glory  in  it.  In  their  pov- 
erty they  are  measurably  free  from  complicity  with 
slaveholding,  but  that  is  no  virtue." 

"  No,  but  it  gives  opportunity  for  the  growth  of  a 
virtue.  It  enables  this  great  mountain  region  to  culti- 
vate a  love  for  the  Union  as  such,  which  is  nowhere 
more  intense.    It  is  not  hampered  by  trade  conditions. 

169 


170  Pine  Knot 

That  is  what  kills  virtue  in  North  and  South,  While 
the  extremes  of  North  and  South  in  their  heat  and 
impatience  are  ready  to  sacrifice  the  national  unity  to 
an  advantage  pro  or  con,  this  great  mountain  section, 
firm  in  its  faith  that  slavery  must  ultimately  end,  and 
that,  as  its  great  commoner,  soon  to  be  President, 
says,  *  This  country  can  not  permanently  exist  half 
slave  and  half  free,'  is  willing  to  wait,  if  need  be,  and 
to  labor  while  it  waits,  keeping  the  Union  whole,  and 
bringing  about  the  final  downfall  of  slavery." 

"  That  is  a  very  rosy  picture,  father,  of  public  senti- 
ment in  the  mountains." 

"  I  was  just  thinking,"  added  Fletcher,  "  that  I 
did  not  believe  the  mountains  were  ready  for  so  active 
an  opposition." 

"  I  do  not  pretend,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee,  "  that  the 
strong  belief  which  this  section  has  in  the  integrity 
of  the  Union  is  primarily  antislavery.  And  I  do  not 
agree  with  my  friend  Brownlow  in  this ;  but  he  is 
first  of  all  a  Union  man,  and  that  will  make  him  an 
abolitionist." 

"  But,"  said  Barbara,  "  would  not  Brownlow's  plat- 
form be  adopted  by  the  extreme  abolitionists  at  the 
North?" 

"  Not  at  all.  They  must  have  abolition  this  instant, 
though  the  heavens  fall." 

"But  can  it  come  without  the  heavens  falling?" 
asked  Mrs.  Buzbee. 

"  I  often  fear  not,  yet  my  hope  is  that  this  mountaia 
section  will  hold  the  nation  together.  It  was  here 
that  Lundy's  great  movement  started.  It  was  here 
that  the  first  antislavery  newspaper  was  founded.  It 
is  this  region  that  is  giving  to  the  nation  its  great  new 


The  Same  Ghost  or  Another         171 

President,  who  will  end  slavery  in  the  Territories.  It 
was  from  the  antislavery  sentiment  of  this  region  that 
Garrison  learned  to  be  an  abolitionist." 

"How  was  that?" 

"  He  was  present  in  Boston  when  Lundy  first  called 
the  ministers  together  to  consider  his  antislavery 
work,"  * 

"  There's  some  one  at  the  door,  Barbara,"  said  her 
mother.     "  Go  and  see  who  it  is." 

Barbara  went  to  the  door,  and  found  the  widow 
Braniman.     "  Come  in,  Mrs.  Braniman,"  she  said. 

"  No,  I  won't  gi'  down.  I  want  to  see  yer  pappy  a 
minute.    Ast  him  to  step  out." 

"  Mrs.  Braniman  wants  you,"  said  Barbara,  re- 
entering. 

"  This  is  inopportune,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee.  "  I  was 
just  getting  into  my  narration." 

The  others,  however,  were  relieved  to  have  him 

*  As  that  meeting  has  often  been  described  and  made  to  ap- 
pear unfavorable  to  those  ministers,  it  may  be  well  to  print  the 
two  accounts  of  it  by  eyewitnesses.  One  is  by  Mr.  Garrison, 
looking  back  at  it  after  eleven  years  of  struggle  and  debate  ; 
the  other  is  from  Lundy's  own  journal,  at  the  time. 

Mr.  Garrison  said  :  "  He  [Lundy]  might  as  well  have  urged 
the  stones  in  the  streets  to  cry  out  in  behalf  of  the  perishing 
captives.  O  the  moral  cowardice,  the  chilling  apathy,  the 
criminal  unbelief,  the  cruel  skepticism  that  were  revealed  on 
that  memorable  occasion  !  Poor  Lundy  !  That  meeting  was  a 
damper  on  his  feelings." 

Mr.  Lundy,  however,  recorded  in  his  journal:  "The  eight 
clergymen  all  cordially  approved  of  my  object,  and  each  of 
them  cheerfully  subscribed  to  my  paper,  in  order  to  encourage, 
by  their  example,  the  members  of  their  several  congregations  to 
take  it.  Mr.  Garrison,  who  sat  in  the  room  and  overheard  our 
proceedings,  also  expressed  his  approbation  of  my  doctrine." 


172  Pine  Knot 

stop,  for  Barbara  and  her  mother  liked  to  hear  him 
talk  on  any  other  subject  better  than  this,  and  Fletcher 
was  grudging  the  time  from  his  Greek. 

"  Howdy,  Mr.  Buzbee  ?  "  said  the  widow. 

"  Good  evening,  Mrs.  Braniman.  Won't  you 
alight?" 

"  No,  I  jest  come  from  the  mill.  Had  to  wait  for 
my  turn,  the  water  is  so  low.    I  had  to  have  the  meal, 

though.    Say,  Mr.  Buzbee "    The  widow  actually 

simpered. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee,  encouragingly. 

"  You  'member  what  you  was  talkin'  to  me  'bout?  " 

"  Why,  yes,  I  think  so !  Let  me  see — was  it  about 
the  election?" 

"  No,  no !  Election !  Who  keers  for  the  shame- 
faced old  election  ?    That  hain't  it." 

"  I  am  almost  afraid  I  have  forgotten.  Oh,  yes, 
it  was  about  your  line  fences.    Well  ?  " 

"  Well,  you  know  you  sorter  thought  me  and 
Noel'd  better  jine  farms,  while  we  was  about  it." 

"  Ah,  yes !  What  seemed  to  me  a  very  good  sug- 
gestion. I  declare  I  had  forgotten  our  conversation, 
but  it  comes  to  me  now.    Well  ?  " 

"  Well,  I've  thought  about  it." 

"Yes,  and  has  he?" 

"  I  dunno.    But  I  reckon  he's  a-thinkin'." 

"  Is  he  keeping  up  his  stock?  " 

"  Land  o'  goodness,  yes !  They  hain't  been  a  critter 
from  his  place  around  for  a  long  spell,  'cept  him." 

"  He  comes,  does  he  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  sorter  encouraged  him,  and  was  friendly 
like,  and  he's  commenced  a-comin'  reg'lar.  We're 
talkin'  to  each  other  right  along  now." 


The  Same  Ghost  or  Another         173 

"  And  have  you  talked  about  the  fence  ?  " 

"  Gracious  sakes,  no !  That  ain't  what  folks  talks 
about  at  sech  times." 

"  Ah,  indeed !  " 

"  No,  hit  ain't.    But,  gracious!  don't  you  know?  " 

"  Well,  I  supposed  as  that  was  the  point  at 
issue " 

"  Yes,  but  hit  wouldn't  do  to  fetch  that  up  till  we 
git  the  other  things  settled." 

"  Oh,  I  see.  Well,  I  am  glad  that  matters  are  going 
well." 

"  Yes,  they  be.  I  'low  to  find  him  thar  when  I  git 
home.  He's  thar  every  night  now,  pretty  nigh.  And 
he  and  my  oldest  gal,  Sal,  they  got  in  all  my  fodder, 
fast  as  the  rest  of  the  young  uns  pulled  it." 

"  That  was  very  neighborly,  I  am  sure." 

"  Yes,  and  'pears  lack  he  keers  for  the  young  uns 
'most  as  much  as  he  does  fur  me.  He  hain't  never  had 
none  of  his  own.  I've  got  'em  till  they  hain't  no 
cur'osity  to  me,  but  he's  as  good  to  'em  as  a  own 
pappy  could  be." 

"  I  am  sure  I  wish  you  a  happy  result  from  this 
pleasant  arrangement." 

"  Yes,  I  reckon  so.  I'm  goin'  home  now.  Hit 
won't  hurt  him  any  ef  I  be  a  little  late.  Hit'll  make 
him  all  the  more  anxious,  and  mebby  hurry  him  up 
a  little.  But  I'm  mighty  keen  to  git  thar  myself,  but  I 
thought  I'd  stop  while  I  was  a-passin'  and  tell  you. 
Say,  you're  a  preacher,  ain't  you  ?  " 

"  No.  I  never  preach  now.  I  once  preached,  but 
not  now." 

"  You  couldn't  marry  a  couple  ?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  not." 


174  Pii^c  Knot 

"  That's  too  bad.  I  wisht  you  could.  I  was  jest 
layin'  off  to  pay  ye  for  doin'  it  by  fetchin'  ye  a  bed 
kiver  I  made  myself.  But  I  reckon  I'll  have  to  git 
Parson  Jim  Fletcher,  if  he  kin  spare  time  from  his  own 
courtin'  of  Lib  Preston  to  marry  any  other  person. 
Good  night." 

Every  word  that  Mrs.  Braniman  had  said  was  dis- 
tinctly audible  to  those  who  sat  within,  and  was  hugely 
enjoyed  by  Barbara  and  Fletcher,  for  the  most  part. 
At  the  word  about  Liberty  Preston,  Barbara  laughed, 
a  cruel,  ironical  little  laugh,  and  yet  it  hurt  her,  too. 
Mrs.  Buzbee  heard  it  gladly,  and  said : 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Fletcher !  You  have  kept  this  from  us. 
But  I  forgive  you,  and  wish  you  joy." 

As  for  Fletcher,  he  turned  red  as  a  beet,  and  at- 
tempted to  stammer  that  the  widow  was  mistaken,  but 
Mrs.  Buzbee  cut  him  off  with — 

"  Your  modesty  does  you  credit,  Mr.  Fletcher. 
No,  no!  You  need  not  tell  us  about  it  now.  Some 
time,  some  time !  Love  and  Greek  are  not  good  com- 
panions, and  Greek  now  is  to  the  fore." 

Fletcher  looked  appealingly  to  Barbara  to  help  him 
out,  but  she  was  disinclined,  and  said : 

"  Let  me  dance  at  your  wedding,  Mr.  Fletcher. 
Or  no,  I  can't  do  that,  can  I  ?  You  Methodists  dont 
dance.  Not  even  a  harmless  little  country  dance. 
How  cruel  you  are !  But  perhaps  I  may  dance  at  the 
Widow  Braniman's.  I'm  so  sorry  you  can't  dance 
with  me." 

"  Barbara !  "  said  her  mother.    "  Don't,  my  child !  " 

"  Oh,  he  likes  to  be  teased.  And  he  can't  help 
being  a  preacher — can  you,  Mr.  Fletcher?" 

It  was  the  first  moment  in  his  life  that  James 


The  Same  Ghost  or  Another         175 

Fletcher  felt  a  secret  desire  to  be,  for  her  sake,  some- 
thing else  than  a  preacher.  And  for  that  moment's 
thought,  which,  however,  came  again  and  again  un- 
bidden, he  chided  himself  over  and  over. 

"  Go  to  your  Greek  now,"  said  Barbara. — "  No, 
father,  don't  talk  any  more  politics  to  Mr.  Fletcher. 
He's  there  at  the  sheep  market,  waiting  with  the  blind 
man  who  is  to  be  sent  to  the  pool,  and  he  has  found 
something  that  troubles  him." 

"  Ah,  yes !  "  said  Mr.  Buzbee.  "  You  see,  that  is 
sheep  gate  and  not  sheep  market." 

"  It  is  not  that  that  troubles  me,"  said  Fletcher. 
"  There  is  a  verse  gone." 

"  Oh,  yes,  the  angel  troubling  the  pool.  Well,  that 
is  an  interpolation.  You  do  not  find  it  in  the  Greek, 
you  know — that  is,  not  in  the  early  manuscripts.  That 
is  an  ancient  superstition." 

Fletcher  sat  aghast.  He  had  had  no  previous  ex- 
perience with  study  of  this  sort,  that  plucked  out  verses 
and  cast  them  aside  as  interpolations,  and  he  was  con- 
strained to  contest  the  point.  The  two  were  soon  in 
a  deep  argument  on  the  purity  of  the  text  of  the  Eng- 
lish Bible,  from  which  they  were  called  by  a  shout 
from  the  road. 

"  Good  evening,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee  from  the  door. 

"  Good  evenin'.  You  ain't  got  no  dogs,  so  I  reckon 
I  mout  have  come  up  and  knocked,  but  I  allow  to  be 
polite,  so  I  hollered." 

"  Come  in,  Mr.  Goodwin. — Good  evening,  Mr. 
Renfro. — Barbara,  set  some  chairs." 

"We  don't  lay  out  to  stay  long,"  said  Renfro. 
"  We  own  some  land,  Goodwin  and  me,  back  on  the 
river.     He  owns  one  side  of  the  Cumberland  and  I 


176  Pine  Knot 

own  the  other.  We're  going  back  there  the  last  o' 
the  week,  and  we  reckoned  mebby  you'd  Hke  to  ride 
there  with  us." 

"  But  my  school  ?  "  said  Mr.  Buzbee. 

"  We'll  go  Saturday  if  you  keer  to  go,"  said  Mr. 
Goodwin. 

"  Why,  perhaps  I  might. — Mrs.  Buzbee,  do  you 
think  it  well  for  me  to  go?  I  suppose  that  I  might, 
and  yet " 

It  was  in  this  undecided  way  that  Mr.  Buzbee  con- 
sidered propositions  that  had  no  direct  bearing  upon 
his  own  work,  balancing  the  matter,  and  turning  to 
others  to  find  some  objective  method  of  deciding. 

"  Why  do  you  want  him  to  go  ?  "  asked  Barbara. 

"  Well,  we  got  a  little  matter "  said  Mr.  Good- 
win. 

"  Well,  I  reckon  they  ain't  no  harm  in  telling  it 
right  out,"  said  Renfro,  "  though  we  don't  want  it 
to  git  'round  much.  But  we  ain't  right  sure  but  we've 
got  a  coon  of  our  own  up  a  tree  thar.'" 

"  In  other  words ?  "  said  Barbara. 

"  In  other  words,"  said  Goodwin,  "  we  lay  out  to 
go  thar  and  skin  a  hog."    He  winked  as  he  said  it. 

"  I'll  go,"  said  Fletcher,  "  and  you  may  talk  it  over 
together.     It  is  evidently  private." 

"  Don't  go,  parson.  It  may  not  be  nothin'  private, 
atter  all,"  said  Renfro.  "  We  ain't  right  sure  yit  how 
private  it  is." 

"  It  either  ain't  private  at  all,"  said  Goodwin,  "  or 
hit's  mighty  private." 

"  It  is  time  for  me  to  go,  anyway,"  said  Fletcher. 
"  I  will  bid  you  good  night." 

They  all  bade  him  good  night,  and  he  started  down 


The  Same  Ghost  or  Another         177 

the  road.  The  night  was  dark,  and  a  sudden  dash  of 
rain  came  into  his  face.  It  was  no  storm  that  was 
coming,  but  a  creepy  dampness  was  in  the  air,  and 
a  few  drops  were  falHng.  A  hoot-owl  gave  its  weird, 
unearthly  shriek,  like  the  death  cry  of  a  murdered 
child.  He  had  heard  it  all  his  life,  but  it  startled  him 
to-night.  He  was  ill  at  ease.  The  discussion  from 
which  he  had  been  excluded  was  nothing  which  con- 
cerned him,  and  yet  he  felt  a  little  hurt  that  he  had 
been  all  but  asked  to  leave  because  of  it.  And  the  word 
of  Widow  Braniman  rankled  in  his  heart,  together  with 
the  consciousness  that  he  had  been  wholly  unable  to 
extricate  himself  from  the  embarrassment  of  the  situ- 
ation. 

A  short  distance  away  he  stopped  and  looked 
back.  This  was  the  roof  that  sheltered  the  woman  he 
worshiped.  Yes,  though  she  teased  him  about  Liberty, 
whom  he  had  sometimes  fancied  he  loved,  and  might 
perhaps  have  loved — who  knows  ? — but  for  her,  though 
she  flouted  him  because  he  could  not  dance,  and  pitied 
him  because  he  was  a  minister,  and  though  he  could 
never  tell  whether  she  was  serious  or  in  play,  though 
he  felt  in  his  soul  that  she  could  be  serious,  and  was 
so  at  times — in  spite  of  all  this,  and  the  hopelessness  of 
his  suit,  he  was  sure  he  loved  her,  and  that  love  made 
everything  else  seem  small ;  yes,  in  shame  he  con- 
fessed it,  his  calling  itself,  his  ambition,  his  hope,  his 
soul's  satisfaction  would  be  less  dear  to  him  if  she 
really  despised  it.  But  did  she  despise  it?  Under- 
neath her  raillery,  was  there  not  a  real  respect  for 
him  and  reverence  for  his  calling?  Sometimes  he 
thought  so,  but  it  had  not  seemed  so  to-night. 

He  smiled  to  himself  to  think  that  anything  should 


178  Pine  Knot 

have  ever  happened  to  make  Deek  Morgan's  house 
seem  a  beautiful  spot  to  him.  Deek  Morgan  had 
done  Httle  to  beautify  it  while  living,  and,  while 
Fletcher  did  not  credit  the  reports  about  his  ghost,  nor 
quite  believe  in  ghosts,  he  had  never  considered  a 
house  that  was  reputed  to  be  haunted  one  that  he 
would  care  to  visit.  Indeed,  though  free  from  the 
grosser  superstitions  of  his  environment,  Fletcher  him- 
self preferred  not  to  carry  a  hoe  through  the  house, 
and  was  a  little  relieved  when  he  saw  the  new  moon 
in  the  open  and  not  through  brush.  Yet,  not  only  was 
he  coming  here  nightly  without  fear,  but 

Fear !  In  an  instant  he  was  afraid.  He  had  walked 
slowly  down  to  the  main  road,  and  was  approaching 
the  fork  where  the  white  sycamore  stood.  His  head 
was  down,  and  he  did  not  see  the  tree  till  he  was  very 
near.  The  whole  tree  was  white,  but  the  bottom  of  the 
trunk  was  more  white  than  it  was  wont.  As  he  stopped, 
he  heard  a  groan.  It  was  a  low,  long-drawn-out  groan, 
and  it  went  to  his  very  soul.  As  he  stood  there,  trying 
to  persuade  himself  that  it  was  only  the  trunk  of  the 
tree  that  he  saw,  and  that  the  groan  was  some  other 
noise,  the  white  figure  moved  away  from  the  tree,  into 
the  middle  of  the  road  down  which  he  must  pass,  and 
stood  there,  raising  its  white  arms,  now  silent  and 
now  groaning. 

No  one  had  ever  called  James  Fletcher  a  timid  man, 
and  he  was  not  a  feeble  one.  He  had  outwitted  the 
school  when  it  locked  him  out ;  he  had  faced  the  leaders 
in  a  body  after  he  had  succeeded  by  strategy  in  open- 
ing the  door;  he  had  given  blows  and  taken  them, 
striking  right  and  left,  and  receiving  the  cuflfs  and 
strikes  of  the  gantlet  as  he  ran  it,  till  he  had  sent  his 


".Who  are  you?' 


The  Same  Ghost  or  Another         179 

most  powerful  antagonist  sprawling,  and  driven  the 
rest  in  terror.  He  had  been  known  to  collar  a  drunkard 
who  disturbed  a  religious  service,  and,  wresting  his 
knife  away,  to  walk  him  to  the  door,  and  thrust  him 
bodily  from  the  room.  But  he  paused  before  this  awful 
apparition,  and  felt  his  hair  slowly  lifting  his  hat. 

He  was  tempted  to  return  to  the  house  for  help, 
but  he  shrank  from  the  eyes  of  Barbara.  Should  he 
tell  her  that  he  had  seen  a  ghost,  and  was  afraid  to  go 
home  alone?  He  would  die  first!  He  thought  of 
going  the  other  way,  but  this,  too,  he  knew  was  cow- 
ardly. While  he  stood  debating  the  figure  advanced 
a  step  or  two.  Fletcher  stood,  his  hair  still  rising. 
Then  he  stepped  backward  one  or  two  paces.  The 
figure  came  on. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  he  asked,  his  hair  erect. 

A  muffled  groan  was  the  answer,  and  the  figure 
drew  nearer. 

Fletcher  was  frightened.  Few  men,  however  brave- 
ly they  may  meet  such  a  situation,  are  wholly  unmoved 
by  it.  He  reaUzed  that  he  was  frightened,  and  on  the 
verge  of  panic.  A  little  more  of  terror  and  he  would 
be  running  down  the  road,  and  that  awful  figure  in 
pursuit !  And  to-morrow  night  ?  Would  he  have  cour- 
age to  come  again?  Would  he  dare  for  Barbara's 
sake  to  brave  it  another  night  ?  Men  think  fast  at  such 
times.  All  these  and  a  hundred  other  thoughts  flashed 
through  Fletcher's  mind  in  the  time  the  specter  was 
advancing  a  matter  of  two  paces.  Then  it  stopped, 
and  Fletcher  decided. 

"  Be  you  man  or  ghost  or  devil,"  he  cried,  "  defend 
yourself !  "  and  he  rushed  forward. 

The  ghost  gave  a  terrible  shriek  and  stepped  back- 


i8o  Pine  Knot 

ward ;  then,  as  Fletcher  still  came  on,  it  turned  and  ran, 
and  Fletcher  after  it.  The  ghost  ran  fast,  but  Fletcher 
gained.  A  little  farther,  and  he  could  touch  it.  He 
put  forth  his  hand  and  grasped  the  sheet  that  covered 
the  fleeing  figure,  and,  as  this  gave  an  insecure  hold, 
reached  again,  halted  the  figure,  and  as  he  turned  it 
about  with  his  left  hand  he  struck  a  heavy  blow  with 
his  right.  The  ghost  fell  in  a  heap,  and  he  stumbled 
over  it  and  fell  headlong.  When  he  picked  himself 
up  the  white  robes  were  still  in  the  road,  but  the  man 
whom  he  had  knocked  down  had  disengaged  himself 
and  fled  through  the  bushes. 

The  ghost's  scream  had  brought  the  Buzbees  and 
their  guests  to  the  door,  and  they  were  hallooing  at 
him,  and  asking  the  cause  of  the  disturbance. 

"  Halloo !  "  he  called,  "  I've  met  a  ghost !  " 

"  A  ghost !  "  cried  Goodwin,  trembling  visibly. 

"  Come  back,  and  bring  the  ghost  with  you,"  called 
Barbara. 

"  I  will,"  said  he. 

A  few  moments  later  he  appeared  at  the  door,  bear- 
ing a  device  constructed  out  of  two  sheets,  with  light 
sticks  to  lengthen  the  arms  and  increase  the  height, 
and  the  whole  arranged  to  adjust  to  the  person  of  a 
man. 

"  I  have  the  ghost,"  he  said ;  "  the  man  got 
away." 

He  told  the  story  in  answer  to  their  questions. 

"  Hit  takes  a  mighty  brave  man  to  face  a  thing  like 
that,"  said  Renfro.  "  I  pass  for  a  moderately  brave 
man  as  such  things  go,  but  hang  me  if  I  want  to  meet 
any  gentleman  like  that!  It  must  'a'  looked  outra- 
geous." 


The  Same  Ghost  or  Another 


i»i 


"  Mr.  Fletcher  is  a  brave  man,"  said  Barbara,  and 
that  one  word  Fletcher  cherished. 

"And  is  this  Deek  Morgan's  ghost?"  asked  Bar- 
bara, laughing,  as  she  disengaged  the  sheets,  which 
were  soiled  but  not  greatly  damaged. 

"  Who  ever  told  you  about  Deek  Morgan's  ghost?  " 
asked  Goodwin,  laughing  uneasily. 

"  Oh,  I  heard  that  we  are  not  the  only  tenants  of 
this  house.  Really,  Mr.  Goodwin,  I  think  you  ought 
to  remit  half  the  rent  for  the  space  that  ghost  occu- 
pies.— ^And  now,  what  will  you  do  with  these  sheets, 
Mr.  Fletcher?" 

"  I'll  give  them  to  you,"  said  Fletcher. 

"  Oh,  thank  you !  That  will  compensate  us  for  our 
loss  of  Mrs.  Braniman's  counterpane.  But  don't  you 
want  them  yourself?  You  might  save  them  to- 
ward  " 

"  I've  had  my  fun  out  of  them,  thank  you,"  said 
Fletcher.  "  I  am  glad  to  get  shut  of  them. — Mrs.  Buz- 
bee,  if  Miss  Barbara  won't  take  them,  I  give  them  to 
you." 

"  Oh,  but  I  didn't  say  I  wouldn't  take  them.  Cer- 
tainly, I'll  take  them.  They  are  a  mark  of  your 
prowess.  They  are  your  badge  of  victory.  They  are 
the  regalia  of  your  knighthood." 

"  Barbara,  Barbara !  "  cried  her  mother.  "  Do  stop 
your  nonsense,  child!  Give  Mr.  Fletcher  his  sheets, 
and  let  him  find  the  owner,  if  he  does  not  wish  them 
himself." 

"  Indeed  I  will  not,  mother  dear,  saving  my  regard 
for  your  authority.  I  may  want  an  outfit  myself  some 
day,  who  knows  ?  The  original  owner  has  forfeited  all 
claim  to  these  sheets.    They  are —    What  is  the  term, 


1 82  Pine  Knot 

father — contraband,  is  it  not?  Well,  then,  they  are 
contraband,  and  they  belong  to  him,  or  they  did.  But 
he  has  given  them  to  me,  and  I  intend  to  keep  them. 
— Please,  Mr.  Fletcher,  go  out  and  find  some  more 
ghosts,  and  may  you  find  the  next  one  in  a  blue  silk 
dress ! " 

"  If  I  do,"  said  Fletcher,  "  I  will  bring  the  ghost's 
raiment  to  you." 

"  But  really,  gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee,  who  had 
stood  helplessly  during  this  play  of  fun,  "  this  is  seri- 
ous. This  is  some  one's  malice.  This  should  be  in- 
vestigated." 

"  Keep  still  till  the  feller  that  done  it  asts  about  it," 
said  Renfro.  "  Then  when  Mr.  Jim  meets  up  with 
some  feller  that  says, '  I  heerd  you  seen  a  ghost,'  jest  let 
him  collar  the  feller  and  say,  '  I  heerd  you  was  the 
ghost  I  seen.'  That'll  fetch  him.  That's  the  best  way 
to  investigate." 

"  It  may  not  be  him,"  said  Goodwin. 

"  If  it  ain't,  it'll  be  some  person  he's  told,  and  you 
kin  blame  it  on  the  feller  that  asts  you  till  he  tells  who 
told  him." 

"  A  very  good  plan,  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee. 
"  Let  us  all  keep  silent  about  it.  This  probably  has  no 
connection  with  the  rumors  that  have  been  afloat 
before." 

"  No,"  said  Renfro,  "  this  ain't  Deek  Morgan's 
ghost.    It  runs  too  fast — ha,  ha !  " 

"  All  the  ghost  of  hisn  there  ever  was,  I  reckon," 
said  Mr.  Goodwin,  much  against  his  conviction,  how- 
ever. 

"  Well,  parson,  I  reckon  we'd  best  all  go  home. 
We're  going  your  way. — All  right,  Mr.  Buzbee.    We'll 


The  Same  Ghost  or  Another         183 

come  by  right  early  Saturday  morning.  We'll  fetch 
you  a  horse,  and  we'll  take  that  ride  and  see  if  we  kin 
tree  that  coon. — Come  on,  Goodwin  ;  do  you  want  some 
person  to  walk  home  with  you?  They  may  be  other 
ghostis,  you  know. — Come  on,  parson ;  you  best  go 
by  with  me  to-night.  We  got  a  place  there  for  sech 
fellers  as  you.  If  we  can't  treat  you  good,  we'll  treat 
you  clever,  and  you  kin  suffer  with  us  a  spell,  I  reckon. 
— Good  night." 

It  may  be  worth  while  to  record  as  an  interest- 
ing item,  which  some  may  regard  as  a  coincidence, 
that  Joe  Lakes  appeared  at  school  next  day  with  a 
black  eye.  There  was  a  perceptible  coolness  between 
him  and  Liberty,  too,  and  he  manifested  no  increase 
of  affection  for  Fletcher. 


13 


^^AAiMAAfft^^. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
swift's  buried  secret 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee,  as  he  mounted 
the  horse  that  Simon  Peter  led  up  to  the  step,  "  I  have 
conceived  a  most  unusual  interest  in  this  undertaking. 
I  believe  that,  if  this  proves  what  you  hope,  it  will  be 
the  most  wonderful  thing  that  has  happened  in  this 
century." 

"  That's  so,"  said  Renfro,  greatly  pleased  to  hear 
Mr.  Buzbee  speak  with  such  enthusiasm ;  "  if  it's  really 
the  old  Swift  mine " 

"  Shet  up !  "  said  Goodwin.  "  Don't  talk  about  it 
till  we  git  away !  " 

"  If  it  be  what  we  are  hoping,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee, 
oblivious  to  the  word  of  caution  which  Goodwin  had 
spoken,  "  it  will  have  the  most  important  bearing  on 
the  work  to  which  I  have  given  my  life." 

"  Goodwin  thinks,"  said  Renfro,  "  that  we'd  best 
not  talk  too  loud  till  we  git  off  in  the  woods." 

It  was  a  long  and  weary  ride.  The  road  led  first 
across  the  mountain  to  Marsh  Creek,  and  then  down 
the  creek  on  the  main  road  toward  Whitley  Court- 
house. But  where  that  road  turned  off  to  the  right, 
they  followed  the  creek  till  they  were  near  its  mouth, 
and  then  bore  to  the  left  by  an  obscure  road  that  be- 
184 


Swift's  Buried  Secret  185 

came  a  mere  trail.  The  scenery  grew  more  wild  and 
grand.  In  their  haste  they  urged  their  horses  more 
than  they  were  aware,  and  the  ascent  of  a  long  hill 
caused  one  of  them  to  show  signs  of  fatigue. 

"  We  will  rest  when  we  come  to  the  top,"  said 
Renfro ;  "  our  horses  are  getting  blowed." 

They  gained  the  top  at  length,  and  stopped  for  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  removing  the  saddles  and  allowing 
the  horses  to  graze. 

"  It  ain't  much  furder,"  said  Goodwin,  "  and  I  hate 
to  lose  the  time." 

"  We  are  all  eager,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee,  "  but  it  is 
not  well  to  override  our  horses.  While  we  wait,  tell 
me  more  about  this  mine.  The  point  which  seems 
established  is,  that  Swift  found  great  quantities  of 
money  here,  or  at  least  of  silver  from  which  he  made 
money.  Now,  what  evidence  have  we  that  we  have 
discovered  the  mine  ?  " 

"  Well,  this  man  that  died  last  week,"  said  Good- 
win, "  he  said " 

"  Yes,  what  did  he  say  ?  " 

"  He  said  that  the  mine  itself  was  right  close  to 
the  falls  in  the  rock  that  glitters  so,  and  he  left  a  paper 
that  tells  where  there's  money  buried." 

"And  you  have  that  paper?"  asked  Renfro. 

"  I  didn't  say  I  had." 

"  I  know  you've  got  it." 

"  Yes,  I've  got  it,"  admitted  Goodwin. 

"  Well,  then,  shell  it  out  here,  and  let's  see  it,"  said 
Renfro  impatiently. 

"  I  was  sorter  thinkin' "  said  Goodwin. 

"  You  was  sorter  thinkin'  you'd  keep  that  for  your 
haul,  was  ye  ?  "  demanded  Renfro. 


1 86  Pine  Knot 

"  Why,  yes,  the  money's  one  thing  and  the  mine's 
another.  If  we  find  the  mine,  of  course  we'll  all 
share." 

"  We'll  all  share  whatever  we  find ;  now  you  hear 
me.  The  mine  and  the  money  and  all  is  one  pot,  and 
we  go  in  for  potluck  together.  We  both  own  the 
land,  and  we  don't  know  whose  land  the  money  is 
buried  on,  but  wherever  it  is  we  share  it,  and  that 
point's  to  be  settled  right  here.  Now  you  and  I  put 
in  what  we  know,  and  Mr.  Buzbee'll  put  in  his  educa- 
tion. He'll  survey  them  lines  as  that  paper  lays  them 
down,  and  he'll  test  the  ore,  and  if  he  don't,  we're  both 
helpless.  But  I  tell  ye  right  now,  Peleg  Goodwin,  this 
is  thirds,  share  and  share  alike,  or  we  don't  go  no 
furder  with  it  till  we  settle  the  p'int ! " 

"How  would  you  settle  it?"  asked  Mr.  Buzbee, 
apprehensively. 

"  They  ain't  but  one  way  to  settle  disputes  about 
mines,"  said  Renfro  with  emphasis. 

"  Do  you  mean ?  "  asked  Goodwin. 

"  I  mean  jest  that,  Peleg,"  said  Renfro,  calmly. 
"  We're  a-goin'  to  see  that  paper,  and  have  a  full  under- 
standin',  an'  Mr.  Buzbee  is  a-goin'  to  draw  up  a  writin' 
for  us  three  to  sign,  that  we'll  share  alike  in  this  hull 
business.  That's  what  we're  goin'  to  do.  That's  the 
next  thing  on  the  programme,  as  I  heerd  a  feller  say." 

"I  deplore  anything  in  the  way  of  a  quarrel," 
began  Mr.  Buzbee. 

"  There  ain't  a-goin'  to  be  no  quarrel,"  said  Mr. 
Renfro. — "  Come,  Peleg,  hand  over  that  paper." 

"Here  it  is,"  he  said  grudgingly. 

"  Mighty  little  good  it  would  have  done  you,"  said 
Renfro,  looking  over  Mr.  Buzbee's  shoulder  in  a  state 


Swift's  Buried  Secret  187 

of  bewilderment. — "  Kin  you  make  head  or  tail  of  it  ?  " 
he  asked  Mr.  Buzbee. 

"  These  are  surveyors'  measurements,"  said  Mr. 
Buzbee,  "  and  the  directions  and  distances  are  given. 
The  trouble  will  be  to  find  the  starting  point.  Here 
is  traced  a  stream  of  considerable  size,  running  nearly 
south,  which  seems  to  be  the  point  of  departure.  Ah, 
yes!  I  recognize  that  sign!  It  is  pounds  sterling! 
That  makes  about  thirty  thousand  dollars  buried  on 
that  creek!  Then,  from  a  tree  a  distance  down  the 
same  stream,  a  tree  bearing  a  compass  and  square,  a 
line  is  run  across  to  another  marked  with  a  trowel, 
with  fifteen  thousand  dollars  buried  there." 

"  Is  that  what  it  means  ?  "  asked  Renfro  eagerly. 

"  Certainly.    It  can  mean  nothing  else." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  asked  Goodwin. 

"  Evidently  not.  Here  is  a  rock  house  marked  as 
containing  thirteen  thousand  dollars,  and  a  small  rock 
with  a  spring  under  the  east  end  which  is  a  marker  for 
seventeen  thousand  dollars,  and  from  there  another  line 
is  surveyed." 

"  How  much  is  there  ?  "  asked  Renfro. 

"  The  largest  of  all,  I  judge.  It  is  marked  *  The 
Prize.' " 

"  The  Prize !  "  To  any  one  of  these  men  a  thou- 
sand dollars  was  an  almost  impossible  sum.  To  find 
a  record  of  thousands  scattered  about,  and  among  them 
a  reference  to  "  The  Prize,"  was  enough  to  strain 
the  imagination  of  all  to  its  utmost  limit.  Goodwin 
had  all  along  shown  a  covetous  eagerness  that  he 
could  scarce  repress;  Renfro  had  masked  an  intense 
nervousness  beneath  a  stolid  exterior ;  Mr.  Buzbee  had 
felt  his  enthusiasm  mounting  higher  and  higher. 


1 88  Pine  Knot 

"  And  all  this  is  ours !  "  cried  Goodwin. 

"  Shet  up,  ye  fool !  "  said  Renfro.  "  We  ain't  got 
ityit!" 

"  But  it's  in  these  mountains,  and  we'll  git  it ! " 
cried  Goodwin. 

"  Yes,  yes !  "  cried  Buzbee.  "  It  is  providential ! 
It  is  the  greatest  deliverance  since  Moses  led  the  chil- 
dren of  Israel  out  of  Egypt !  It  has  in  it  the  redemp- 
tion of  a  race !  We  are  here  at  the  cave  of  Ali  Baba ! 
We  are  given  the  lamp  of  Aladdin !  We  are  to  work 
miracles  with  this  mine !  " 

His  companions  looked  at  him  a  moment,  even  in 
their  own  enthusiasm  half  doubting  if  he  were  still 
sane,  yet  catching  more  enthusiasm  from  his. 

"  What  be  we  a-stayin'  here  for?  "  demanded  Good- 
win. 

"  Sure  enough !  "  cried  Renfro ;  "  the  mine's  the 
thing  to  find  first !  " 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Buzbee.  "  If  we  find  the 
mine  we  shall  know  that  the  money  is  near.  This  writ- 
ing is  old.  The  marks  on  these  trees  are  long  since 
overgrown.  The  search  for  the  money  will  be  long 
and  difficult.  It  may  take  us  months  to  get  our  start- 
ing point.  But  if  we  find  the  mine,  we  can  smelt  our 
own  silver." 

"  We  must  have  the  money,  too ! "  cried  Good- 
win. 

"  Yes,  indeed !  We  must  have  it  all !  "  replied  Buz- 
bee ;  "  but  the  mine  is  the  most  important  thing." 

They  were  soon  on  their  horses  and  pressing  for- 
ward. They  did  not  spare  horseflesh,  and  the  few  re- 
maining miles  were  quickly  at  an  end,  and  the  horses* 
feet  splashed  in  the  soft  waters  of  the  Cumberland 


Swift's  Buried  Secret  189 

where  they  ran  swift  and  shallow  a  mile  above  the 
falls. 

"  Not  so  low  down,"  said  Renfro.  "  It's  deeper 
there,  and  the  current  is  mighty  strong." 

They  forded  the  river  in  safety  and  tethered  their 
horses. 

"  And  now,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee,  "  let  us  get  to  the 
mine ! " 

"  Tears  to  me  lack  we  best  to  hunt  for  the  money 
first,"  said  Goodwin. 

"You  make  me  sick !"  exclaimed  Renfro.  "You're 
so  keen  for  money  you'd  steal  the  pennies  from  your 
dead  mother's  eyes !  " 

"  Friends,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee,  "  we  have  a  long  and 
hard  task  before  us  and  are  banded  together  for  noble 
ends.  We  must  not  quarrel.  We  shall  find  much 
occasion  for  irritation,  perhaps  some  disappointment, 
but  we  shall  succeed.  We  shall  succeed !  We  must 
not  quarrel.  The  opening  of  this  mine  is  something 
holy,  something  sacramental.  It  must  not  be  done 
with  strife." 

He  forgot  that  the  others  had  little  idea  to  what 
high  ends  he  was  devoting  his  share  in  the  mine.  It 
was  characteristic  of  his  generous  and  not  too  dis- 
cerning nature  that  he  included  in  his  own  altruism 
all  the  selfish  effort  of  his  associates,  the  mere  com- 
mercialism of  Renfro  and  the  greed  of  Goodwin.  And 
they,  not  understanding  the  meaning  of  his  words, 
understood  his  spirit,  and  were  persuaded  by  it. 

Then  began  an  examination  of  the  rocks,  Good- 
win was  impatient,  and  even  Renfro  found  it  trying, 
as  they  climbed  up  and  down,  examining  the  out- 
cropped rock   above  the  falls,   measuring,   breaking 


190  Pine  Knot 

specimens,  and  thus  spending  by  far  the  greater  part 
of  the  day. 

"  Maybe  you'll  tell  us,"  said  Goodwin,  "  what's  the 
good  of  all  this  ?  " 

"  We  must  find  first,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee,  "  where  are 
the  silver-bearing  rocks.  That  will  show  us  in  what 
strata  we  must  search." 

"  'Pears  like  we're  wasting  a  heap  of  time,"  said 
Goodwin. 

"  We  shall  need  patience  in  this  work,"  said  Buz- 
bee. "  If  either  of  you  have  a  better  plan,  I  will  gladly 
follow  it." 

"  No,"  said  Renfro,  "  we  hain't.  But  let's  stop 
now  and  eat  a  snack,  and  whilst  we're  a-eatin',  mebby 
you'll  tell  us  a  little  more  what  you're  a-drivin'  at,  so's 
we'll  have  the  same  in-trust  you've  got.  This  seems  to 
us  mighty  piddlin'  business.  I  reckon  we're  too  im- 
patient." 

Mr.  Buzbee  loked  at  his  watch  as  they  sat  down. 
It  was  four  o'clock.  The  short  day  was  nearing  its 
close.  The  sun,  as  they  seated  themselves,  was  out  of 
sight  behind  the  great  range  of  hills  behind  them. 
They  were  tired  and  hungry  and  disappointed. 

Patiently  he  explained  to  them  the  position  of  the 
strata,  and  the  necessity  of  locating  the  bed  of  rock 
which  showed  traces  of  silver.  This,  he  argued,  very 
likely  continued  under  the  entire  mountain,  or  a  great 
part  of  it,  and  once  found  would  enable  them  to  locate 
openings  at  various  points,  or  at  least  to  determine 
at  what  point  to  begin. 

"  And  now  tell  me,"  he  said,  as  he  saw  that  they 
were  satisfied  with  his  explanation,  "  a  little  more  about 
this  man  Mundy  from  whom  the  paper  came." 


Swift's  Buried  Secret  191 

"  He  lived  on  Copper  Creek,"  said  Renfro,  "  and 
was  a  honest  feller,  but  sorter  cracked.  His  pa  and 
a  feller  name  of  Jefferson  was  with  Swift.  There  was 
another,  name  of  Wright,  too.  Well,  atter  the  skeer 
he  got  when  he  was  a  young  feller,  trying  to  find  the 
mine,  he  wouldn't  never  come  over  here  no  more, 
but  he  hung  to  the  paper  like  the  cholery  to  a  nigger. 
I  don't  know  how  Peleg  got  it,  but  that's  how  Mundy 
got  it,  I've  heerd  tell." 

"  He  owed  me,"  said  Goodwin.  "  I  lent  him  money 
long  ago,  and  he  couldn't  pay.  I'd  often  ast  him  to 
give  me  the  paper  for  security,  but  he  wouldn't.  But 
I  had  other  security-  When  he  was  a-dyin'  I  went 
over,  and  he  gin  it  to  me  for  payment  of  the  debt.  I 
wanted  to  ast  him  a  heap  o'  questions,  but  he  couldn't 
answer  nothin'.  I  had  a  notion  to  keep  the  thing 
to  myself,  but  bein'  as  how  Renfro  owned  the  land 
on  one  side  of  the  river  here,  and  I  couldn't  make 
nothin'  out  of  the  paper " 

"  Specially  the  last,"  interrupted  Renfro. 

"  Well,  I  found  I'd  got  to  have  pardners  to  make 
a  go  of  it ;  that's  all." 

"  It  is  plain  that  we  shall  accomplish  nothing  to- 
night," said  Buzbee.  "  It  is  all  we  can  do  to  get 
home  before  it  will  be  pitch  dark.  I  have  some  speci- 
mens to  examine,  and  I  will  try  what  I  can  do  with 
a  blowpipe.  I  really  need  a  crucible  of  some  sort, 
and  I  may  say  now  that,  while  I  have  a  fair  knowl- 
edge of  mineralogy,  I  am  no  expert  in  matters  of  this 
kind.  I  have  had  no  experience  in  the  actual  work 
of  analysis,  I  must  read  what  my  books  tell  about  it, 
and  must  learn  how  it  is  done." 

"We'll  be  larnin*,  too,"  said  Goodwin. 


192  Pine  Knot 

"  Yes,  we  will  all  learn  together." 

"  And  look  here,  Mr.  Buzbee,  you'd  best  draw  up 
that  paper  about  us  goin'  in  together,  share  and  share 
alike." 

"  I  will.  I  will  do  it  next  week.  And  now  we  ought 
to  go." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  THREAD   THAT  SLIPPED 

"  Chickeny-chickeny-craney-crow  ! 
I  went  to  the  well  to  wash  my  toe, 
And  when  I  came  back,  one  o'  my  chickens  was  gone. 
What  time  o'  day  is  it,  old  witch  ?" 

So  sang-  the  girls  of  the  Pine  Knot  College,  each 
holding  fast  to  the  skirts  of  the  one  before  her,  and 
keeping  well  behind  the  big  girl  who  assumed  the 
role  of  the  old  hen,  who  then,  in  response  to  the  reply 
of  the  witch  that  it  was  near  dinner  time,  put  these 
questions : 

"  What  be  you  doin',  old  witch  ?  " 

"  Makin'  a  fire,"  replied  the  squat  figure  bent  over 
the  sticks. 

"What's  the  fire  fur?" 

"  To  bile  some  water." 

"  What's  the  water  fur?  " 

"  To  scald  a  chicken." 

"  Where  you  goin'  to  git  yer  chicken  ?  " 

"  Out  of  your  flock." 

Sometimes  the  witch  rushed  out  and  attempted  to 
seize  a  chick,  and  sometimes  she  sat  watching,  in  which 
case  the  swaying  line  brought  one  girl  after  another 
before  yet  not  too  near  her,  each  one  thrusting  out  a 

193 


194  Pine  Knot 

bare  foot — though  it  was  the  ist  of  November — and  de- 
manding, "  Is  that  hit  ?  "  But  usually  the  mother  hen 
took  care  to  keep  herself  between  the  witch  and  her 
brood,  and  as  she  turned  to  right  and  left  the  whole 
line  had  to  swing  with  the  twistings  of  her  hips.  It 
ended  each  time  in  the  capture  of  a  chicken,  the  re- 
formation of  the  line,  the  twisting  up  of  hair,  the  tying 
up  of  disordered  petticoats,  and  the  repetition  of  the 
dialogue.  But  the  mother  hen  fought  hard  for  every 
one  of  her  chickens,  and  not  one  was  lost  till  the  con- 
test had  been  well  and  long  fought.  Some  little  girls 
had  been  thrown  from  the  end  of  the  line  as  little 
boys  were  at  "  crack-the-whip,"  and  others  had  re- 
ceived some  bumps  and  bruises,  but  the  game  was  a 
popular  one  with  the  girls,  though  more  or  less  under 
their  mothers'  ban. 

It  was  in  this  way  that  Dolly  Mason  got  her  skirt 
torn  ofif,  or  nearly  so,  and  Liberty  Preston  was  sewing 
it  up  for  her,  and  comforting  the  little  girl,  who  was 
sure  she  would  "  git  a  lickin'  at  home,"  with  the  assur- 
ance that  she  could  sew  it  up  so  that  her  mother  would 
never  know  of  the  damage. 

"  You're  just  lovely !  "  cried  Dolly.  "  I  think 
you're  the  loveliest  girl  ever  I  seed ! " 

Liberty  caught  the  little  one  in  her  arms,  and 
kissed  her  in  return  for  the  compliment. 

"Do  you  really  think  I'm  lovely,  Dolly?" 

Dolly  looked  straight  at  her,  and  then  touched  her 
curls. 

"  You're  just  beautiful,"  said  she. 

"  I'm  afraid  they  ain't  many  that  thinks  so,"  said 
Liberty. 

"  Ain't  they?    Who  don't  think  so?  " 


The  Thread  that  Slipped  195 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  reckon  'most  everybody 
thinks  I'm  mighty  ugly.  They  don't  nobody  tell  me 
I'm  lovely  but  just  you,  Dolly." 

Dolly  stood  undecided  what  to  say.  The  hyperbole 
was  too  much  for  her  to  comprehend. 

"  Why,  I  should  just  think  everybody  would  love 
you.  I  just  wisht  I  was  a  man !  I  tell  you  what  I'd 
do !    I'd  marry  you !  " 

It  was  a  trivial  thing,  but  it  cheered  Liberty  up  a 
bit,  and  gave  her  some  sad  thoughts  too.  She  was 
pretty,  and  she  knew  it.  She  was  popular,  and  she 
knew  that  too.  There  were  many  who  would  call  her 
lovely  and  make  love  to  her,  but  James  Fletcher  was 
as  far  away  as  if  he  had  been  in  some  of  the  remote 
lands  of  which  Mr.  Buzbee  talked  in  the  geography 
class.  And  the  only  reason  under  the  sun,  as  she  be- 
lieved, why  he  was  not  her  own  was  that  this  girl  from 
Lexington  had  bewitched  him.  .She  determined  to 
bear  it  no  longer,  though  what  she  could  do  was  not 
then  apparent. 

Barbara,  too,  was  not  at  all  in  peace  with  herself. 
This  stalwart  young  fellow,  so  earnest  and  brave,  this 
young  giant  of  the  backwoods,  hurling  the  mountains 
of  ignorance  amain  in  his  struggles  after  knowledge, 
this  Saul  among  his  companions,  towering  head  and 
shoulders  above  them  not  only  in  stature  but  in  in- 
telligence and  purpose,  was  by  no  means  unattractive 
to  her.  That  he  loved  her  she  could  not  doubt,  that 
she  could  love  him  she  sometimes  thought.  But  then 
there  came  to  her  mind  the  memory  of  Boyd  Estill, 
the  fine,  handsome  fellow,  generous  and  noble,  quick 
in  temper,  but  quick  also  in  his  courage  and  manly 
strength,  and  she  hesitated. 


196  Pine  Knot 

"  Barbara,"  said  her  mother  that  morning,  "  I'm 
troubled  about  you,  my  dear." 

"  Alas  that  I  should  be  a  care  to  you,  mother  dear ! 
Tell  me,  what  is  the  matter?  I'll  give  all  my  goods 
to  feed  you,  and  my  body  to  be  burned " 

"  All  these  would  profit  me  nothing,  my  child,  I 
could  spare  your  goods,  which,  alas !  are  too  few,  but 
I  could  not  spare  my  merry,  cheery,  naughty  girl." 

"  What  can  I  do  for  you,  mother?  " 

"  It  is  not  for  me  that  I  want  you  to  do ;  it  is  for 
yourself." 

"Well?" 

Barbara  was  sewing  up  a  tear  in  one  of  the  sheets 
that  had  constituted  the  wardrobe  of  the  recent  ghost. 

"  I  don't  like  to  have  you  keep  those  sheets." 

"  Are  you  afraid  of  them,  mother  ?  " 

"  No,  bless  me !  I  don't  like  to  have  you  accept 
presents  from  that  young  man." 

"  Presents,  mother?  Do  you  call  this  a  present? 
Are  dilapidated  ghosts  and  ghostesses  to  be  counted 
gifts  prohibited  by  good  manners  ?  They  never  taught 
me  so  in  school,  mother.  I  Vt^ant  these  sheets.  They 
are  the  trophies  of  my  knight-errant !  They  are  the 
beginnings  of  my  future  outfit!  They  are  all  that  I 
shall  need  if  I  myself  decide  to  personate  the  late 
lamented  Deek  Morgan,  and  revisit  the  glimpses  of 
the  moon.  See  how  I  would  look  in  them,  mother! 
I  can  robe  myself  d  la  Hamlet's  father,  and  say : 

"  I  am  thy  daughter's  spirit, 
Doomed  for  a  certain  time  to  walk  the  night " — 

What's  the  rest,  mother?    I  never  can  remember  more 
than  two  lines  of  my  Shakespeare." 


The  Thread  that  Slipped  197 

"  You  foolish  girl !  Keep  the  sheets !  It  is  not 
that  I  care  for,  and  I  am  not  sorry  to  see  your  folly 
now  and  then.  I  am  glad  that  you  can  be  happy.  In- 
deed, we  have  been  happy  here,  have  we  not?  Much 
more  so  than  I  feared.  But  I  am  not  quite  happy  over 
this,  and  I  have  fancied  you  were  not  quite  yourself 
lately.  I  can  not  say  more.  I  am  almost  breaking 
my  promise  in  saying  so  much.  Only,  my  child,  re- 
member how  much  of  my  life  and  your  father's  is 
bound  up  in  yours." 

Barbara  was  thoughtful  that  day,  and  in  the  after- 
noon she  went  to  school  to  assist  in  some  preparations 
for  the  exhibition. 

On  her  way  to  school  she  met  Granny  White,  going 
up  to  Blake's  to  barter  some  ginseng  for  coffee. 

"  Howdy,  honey  ?  Lord  love  you,  dear !  I'm 
mightily  pestered  about  you  all !  " 

"  About  me,  granny  ?  " 

"  Yes.    The  sign  didn't  work." 

"What  sign?" 

"  The  sign  I  tried  for  you  all." 

"  I  didn't  know  about  that.    Tell  me  what  it  was." 

"  I  soaked  two  coffee-grains — one  for  the  preacher 
and  one  for  the  blue-grass  feller," 

"  That  was  kind,  I'm  sure,  though  I  am  afraid  one 
of  them  at  least  will  not  be  here  to  drink  it." 

"  Hit  tain't  to  drink,  honey.  No,  no !  You  rub 
'em  with  ile  first — ile  from  the  liver  of  a  black  cat  that 
was  killed  in  the  dark  of  the  moon." 

"  Mercy !    I'm  glad  it  isn't  to  drink !  " 

"  And  then  rile  the  spring  and  wait  till  hit  clairs, 
and  dip  in  a  cymlin  inter  the  east  side  o'  the  spring 
and  put  the  coffee  in  thar — when  the  sign's  in  the 


198  Pine  Knot 

heart  comin'  up,  and  ever  which  one  that  swells  most 
is  the  feller." 

"  That  is  interesting.    Well,  which  swelled  most?  " 

"  That's  hit.     I  dunno." 

"  You  don't?    Haven't  you  taken  them  out?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  done  that  to-day.  But  the  thread  I 
tied  around  one  of  them  come  off,  and  I  cyan't  tell 
which  is  which.  One's  swelled  a  heap  more'n  t'other, 
but  I  dunno  which  one  hit  is." 

"  That's  unfortunate." 

"  Yes,  and  hit's  a  bad  sign.  I'm  afeard  you're 
goin'  to  have  trouble,  honey,  with  them  two  fellers." 

"  Oh,  well,"  laughed  Barbara,  "  I'm  grateful  for 
your  interest,  anyway." 

The  old  woman  laid  her  skinny  finger  on  the  fair 
young  hand  and  said  : 

"  I  kin  tell  you,  honey,  how  to  ketch  the  one  you 
want." 

"  Tell  me,  please." 

"  Take  the  parin's  of  yer  own  toe  nails,  and  wash 
'em  in  water  tuck  from  the  spring  like  I  told  you,  and 
when  the  sign's  in  the  heart  goin'  down.  Hit's  got  to 
go  down  this  time.  Then  take  the  coffeepot  and  dip 
some  water  from  the  spring,  and  bile  the  parin's  in  hit. 
Then  rench  out  the  coffeepot,  and  when  he  comes 
have  him  drink  coffee  from  that  pot.  But  they  mustn't 
nobody  else  use  it  atter  you  fix  hit  that  away  till  the 
feller  does." 

Barbara  tried  to  preserve  her  gravity,  but  it  was 
no  use. 

"  But  what  would  happen,  granny,"  she  asked,  "  if 
both  should  come  at  once  ?  " 

"  But  they  cyan't !    One  of  'em  ain't  here !  " 


The  Thread  that  Slipped  199 

"  O  granny !  You're  prejudiced  on  the  case. 
But  it  isn't  that  I  need  to  know.  What  shall  I  put 
in  the  coffeepot  to  know  which  one  I  want,  or  whether 
I  want  either?  " 

"  I  don't  know  no  sign  for  that,"  said  granny  sadly. 

"  Nor  I,"  said  Barbara.  "  Good-by,  granny. 
This  will  buy  you  a  pound  of  coffee,  and  you  may  use 
your  ginseng  for  a  pretty  new  apron." 

"  Lord  love  you,  honey !  You're  the  prettiest  gal 
ever  I  seed,  and  the  preacher  ain't  ary  grain  too  good 
fer  ye!  Hit  would  hurt  Lib  Preston  mightily  if  you 
was  to  git  him,  and  Libby  is  a  right  nice  girl,  too,  but 
he  ain't  none  too  good  fer  ye,  honey,  nary  grain." 

Liberty  Preston  was  putting  away  her  needle  after 
sewing  up  Dolly  Martin,  and  was  in  no  amiable  mood. 
Still  she  welcomed  Barbara,  and  they  conferred  to- 
gether concerning  the  music.  For  great  preparations 
were  under  way  for  an  exhibition,  and  a  half  hour 
each  day  was  given  up  to  formal  exercises  in  prepara- 
tion for  it,  and  there  was  much  rehearsing  and  con- 
ferring at  recess.  It  was  to  be,  by  any  standard  of 
comparison,  the  grandest  affair  of  its  kind  that  Pine 
Knot  had  ever  known,  and  the  music  was  to  be  an 
important  feature.  So  they  conferred  together,  and  on 
that  afternoon  shared  the  responsibility  for  the  last 
half  hour,  which  was  the  rehearsal  hour.  But  there 
was  a  visible  coldness  between  them,  and  Barbara  felt 
herself  unwittingly  exulting  that  she  was  the  victor, 
and  that  this  her  rival  was  cherishing  toward  her  the 
hatred  of  failure.  She  reproached  herself  for  this  feel- 
ing, but  asked  herself :  "  What  have  I  done  ?  I'm  sure 
it  is  not  my  fault." 

When  school  was  out,  Barbara  tried  to  avoid  Lib- 
14 


200  Pine  Knot 

erty,  and  to  walk  home  with  other  girls,  for  her  father 
was  detained  at  the  schoolhouse,  but  Liberty  kept 
close  beside  her  with  an  air  that  sent  the  other  girls 
by  themselves.  They  walked  together  thus  to  where 
the  road  forks  to  go  up  to  the  house,  and  halted  under 
the  dead  tree  in  the  road. 

"  Good  evening,"  said  Barbara,  glad  to  end  the 
walk. 

"  Hold  on,"  said  Liberty. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  ast  you  one  question." 

"  Ask  it." 

"  Do  you  love  Jim  Fletcher,  or  don't  ye  ?  " 

"  It  is  he  if  any  one  who  should  ask  me  that." 

"  And  it's  me  that's  got  a  right  to  ast  it  too." 

"  What  right  have  you  to  ask  it  ?  " 

"  I've  got  a  good  right  to." 

"  Yes,  but  what  right  ?    Is  he  engaged  to  you  ?  " 

"  No,  nor  to  you  neither." 

"  Who  told  you  so  ?  "  It  was  a  cruel  question,  and 
it  went  to  Liberty's  heart. 

"  He  ain't,  is  he?  He  ain't  promised  to  marry  you, 
has  he?" 

Truth  no  less  than  kindness  prompted  Barbara's 
swift  denial. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  he  is  not  engaged  to  me." 

*'  Well,  then,  do  you  love  him  ?  " 

"  What  right  have  you  to  ask  me  ?  I  have  as  good 
a  right  to  ask  you." 

"  Ast  me,  then,  and  welcome.  I'll  tell  ye.  Yes,  I 
do  love  him.    I've  loved  him  more'n  a  year." 

"  Does  he  love  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  whether  he  does  or  not,  but  I  just 


The  Thread  that  Slipped  201 

as  good  as  know  he  did  until  you  come.  And  now 
you're  sashayin'  off  with  him  at  your  heels,  follerin' 
where  you  crook  your  finger,  and  like  as  not  makin' 
a  fool  of  him  in  the  end.  If  you  break  his  heart,  I — 
I'll  kill  you !  I  will — I  will !  I  can  stand  it  to  have 
my  own  broke,  but  if  you  take  him  away  from  me,  and 
break  his,  I'll  kill  you  sure !  " 

The  hot  passion  melted  into  tears,  and  Liberty 
buried  her  face  in  her  clean  white  apron  and  wept  bit- 
terly. 

Barbara  looked  at  her  a  moment  in  indecision,  and 
then  put  her  arm  around  her. 

"  You  do  love  him.  Liberty,  don't  you  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  God  knows  I  do !  And  I  just  want  you 
either  to  take  him  or  give  him  up,  one,  and  let  me 
know  which.    I  can't  stand  this  no  longer." 

Barbara  led  her  a  little  from  the  road  into  the  wood 
and  sat  on  a  log  beside  her. 

"  You  poor  girl,"  she  said,  "  I  wish  I  knew  my 
heart  as  well  as  you  know  yours.  Don't  cry.  Liberty. 
We  must  be  friends.  Come,  you  have  told  me  your 
heart,  and  I  will  tell  you  mine.  I  don't  know.  Liberty, 
whether  I  love  him  or  not.  I  admire  him  very  much. 
He  has  been  in  our  home  so  much — he  comes  almost 
every  night,  you  know,  and  is  almost  the  only  young 
man  I  have  seen — I  could  not  help  coming  to  admire 
him,  and  sometimes  when  I  have  seen  him  struggling 
so  nobly  to  learn,  fighting  so  bravely  against  disadvan- 
tages that  have  hemmed  him  in,  and  unconsciously 
showing  his  manhood  at  every  turn — sometimes.  Lib- 
erty, I  have  almost  loved  him.  But  I  had  a  friend 
once,  and  we  liked  each  other.  We  had  a  quarrel, 
a  little  quarrel  it  was,  and  I  came  away  before  we  made 


202  Pine  Knot 

it  up.  If  we  had  stayed  where  we  were,  I  am  sure  we 
should  have  made  it  up.  But  we  parted  with  no  word 
to  each  other,  I  often  think  of  him,  and  sometimes  I 
think  that  I  love  him,  and  I  wonder  whether  he  loves 
me.  But  I  don't  know.  And  I  wish  I  did.  But, 
Liberty,  let  us  be  friends.  I  will  not  take  your  lover 
from  you.  I — I  will  harden  my  heart  against  him. 
I  will  not  be  selfish.  I  can  not  send  him  away,  for  he 
comes  to  see  my  father,  and  not  me.  He  comes  to 
study,  and  not  to  visit.     And  I  will  be  true  to  you." 

Liberty  looked  up,  and  their  eyes  met. 

"Will  you?  "she  asked.  "Will  you?"  And  then, 
as  Barbara's  own  eyes  filled,  she  added,  "  I  believe  you 
sorter  love  him  yourself !  " 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE   CIRCULAR   RAINBOW 

The  election  of  i860  passed  uneventfully  for  the 
most  part  in  Pine  Knot.  There  were  two  elections, 
in  fact — one  in  Pine  Knot,  Kentucky,  and  one  in  Pine 
Knot,  Tennessee.  The  Kentucky  election  was  held  in 
Best's  barroom,  and  the  Tennessee  election  was  held 
at  Post's.  The  election  was  honestly  conducted,  for 
there  was  a  difference  of  opinion  among  the  voters. 
Time  had  been  in  a  presidential  election  of  general 
interest  when  the  Pine  Knot  mind  was  a  unit,  that  the 
presence  of  the  State  line  added  its  special  glory  to 
an  election.  Every  one  in  Pine  Knot,  for  instance, 
had  voted  for  Henry  Clay,  and — in  that  day  there  was 
but  one  hotel,  and  the  polls  for  the  Kentucky  elec- 
tion were  established  in  a  covered  wagon — each  voter, 
having  polled  a  good  and  honest  vote  in  his  own  State, 
stepped  over  the  line  and  voted  in  the  other.  But  in 
i860  there  was  sufficient  difference  of  opinion  to  make 
such  a  feat  impracticable. 

The  voting  was  done  viva  voce  in  both  States,  and 
has  so  continued  almost  to  this  day.  Indeed,  in 
a  county  not  far  from  that  in  which  Pine  Knot  is  lo- 
cated, the  righteous  populace  tore  out  the  booths  es- 
tablished  by  the   new   and   cumbersome   Australian 

203 


204  Pine  Knot 

system,  and  as  recently  as  in  1898  voted  in  the  old 
way. 

"  Hit's  a  daggon  furrin  invention,"  said  a  local 
politician,  "  and  hit's  a  temptation  to  fraud.  When  a 
man  git's  in  thar  with  his  lead  pencil,  who  knows 
whether  he  votes  the  way  he  says  he  will  ?  "  And  so 
the  booths  came  out. 

But  there  were  no  booths  in  i860,  and  every  man 
stepped  up  and  named  his  candidate,  and  as  he  walked 
away  the  clerk  shouted  in  the  ears  of  all  men :  "  John 
Strunk  voted  for  Bell  and  Everett!  Joe  Cecil  voted 
for  Abraham  Lincoln !  " 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  confusion  in  the  Pine 
Knot  mind.  There  were  four  tickets,  which  were  two 
too  many,  and  it  was  not  certain  just  what  was  the  dif- 
ference between  Bell  and  Douglas,  or  just  what  Lin- 
coln or  Breckinridge  represented. 

Sim  Cressy  waited  around  to  meet  his  old  crony 
Dan  Spaulding,  and  they  commiserated  each  other  on 
the  fact  that  they  could  not  vote  together  as  they  had 
done  in  some  years. 

"  How  be  you  alls  in  Kaintuck  votin'  ?  "  asked  Sim. 

"  Dinged  ef  I  know.  I  sorter  had  an  idy  of  votin' 
for  Douglas." 

"  Did  ye  ?  That's  too  bad.  I  sorter  layed  off  to 
vote  for  Bell  'n'  Everett.    What's  the  difference  ?  " 

"  Dinged  if  I  know,"  replied  Dan  again. 

"What  be  you,  Dan?" 

"  I  ain't  quite  made  up  my  mind.  I  know  one 
thing,     I  ain't  no  rebel." 

"  Nor  me." 

"  And  I  ain't  no  black  abolitionist." 

"  Nor  me." 


The  Circular  Rainbow  205 

"  Nor  I  ain't  none  of  them  daggon  fellers  that 
thinks  they  know  more'n  their  neighbors." 

"  Nor  me." 

They  stood  on  the  State  line  where  the  way  parted 
to  the  polls  of  the  two  sovereign  States.  At  length 
Dan  said,  with  the  suggestion  of  a  smile  on  his  with- 
ered old  face  that  peered  out  from  its  ring  beard  as 
if  from  a  bag,  "  Sim,  I  reckon  I  know  what  you  be." 

"  Well,  I  wisht  you'd  tell  me,  for  I'd  like  to  know." 

"  You're  jest  a  ingorant  old  fool." 

"  Dan,  you're  right,  by  golly !  And  say,  I  know 
what  you  be." 

"  Well,  what  be  I  ?  " 

"  Well,  you're  another,  or  I'm  a  possum !  " 

"  That's  jest  what  I  be,  old  feller,  that's  jest  what 
I  be !  Say,  before  we  vote,  let's  go  over  and  take  some- 
thin'." 

"  That's  the  first  sensible  word  you've  said  to-day. 
I'm  right  with  ye.  And  say,  I  hate  not  to  vote  with 
you.  Let's  split  the  difference,  and  vote  for  Lincoln. 
He's  a  mountain  boy,  and  some  kin  of  ourn,  I  reckon." 

"  All  right,  Sim.    I'll  do  it." 

The  two  old  men  went  into  Post's  and  drank  their 
uncolored  corn  juice  with  a  dry  eye,  and  parted  at  the 
door  with  the  affectionate  sally: 

"  Say,  Sim,  you're  a  ingorant  old  fool,  now  ain't 
you?" 

"  That's  what  I  be,  Dan.    And  you're  another !  " 

"  Don't  you  go  to  callin'  me  no  opprobrious  names, 
Sim." 

"  I'll  call  you  all  the  appropriate  names  I  please, 
Dan — you  ingorant  old  fool — he,  he !  " 

This  pleasant  conversation  accounts  for  two  votes 


2o6  Pine  Knot 

cast  for  Abraham  Lincoln,  whereby  his  minority  in  two 
States  was  made  less  small,  though  the  electoral  vote 
of  both  States — and  of  these  and  Virginia  only — was 
cast  for  Bell. 

But  this  was  not  the  general  character  of  the  Lin- 
coln vote.  There  were  two  warm  political  speeches 
that  day — one  by  Mr.  Buzbee  and  one  by  James 
Fletcher,  and  both  were  for  Lincoln.  There  was  some 
opposition  to  Mr.  Buzbee's,  for  his  abolitionism  came 
out  in  the  most  uncompromising  way,  and  not  all  his 
hearers  by  any  means  were  ready  for  it.  Indeed,  as 
the  day  wore  on,  and  liquor  flowed  somewhat  freer, 
there  was  some  talk  of  a  merry  party  to  take  him  out 
that  night  and  switch  him,  with  a  warning  to  leave 
the  county,  but  nothing  came  of  it.  Still,  he  made 
some  enemies  that  day,  from  whom  he  had  to  hear 
later.  Fletcher  took  the  stump,  literally,  for  it  was  a 
stump  on  the  State  line  that  afforded  him  a  rostrum, 
and  pleaded  for  a  vote  for  the  whole  nation,  a  vote  that 
was  first  of  all  to  keep  the  Union  whole,  and  next  to 
limit  the  political  power  of  the  cotton  States,  between 
whom  and  the  manufacturing  interests  of  the  North 
the  great  border  portions  of  the  nation  were  forgotten. 
It  was  a  line  of  thought  that  had  come  to  him  from 
the  reading  of  the  Knoxville  Whig  and  from  his  de- 
bates with  Mr.  Buzbee,  but  he  developed  it  independ- 
ently, and  made  a  strong  impression  upon  the  voters. 
When  the  votes  were  counted  that  night — and  they 
were  counted  while  being  cast,  for  that  matter,  for 
every  one  could  tell,  if  he  chose  to  count,  just  how  the 
vote  stood  at  any  time — there  was  found  to  be  a  clear 
majority  for  Abraham  Lincoln,  and  he  was  thence- 
forth inaugurated  in  the  thought  of  the  community  as 


The  Circular  Rainbow  207 

the  President  of  Pine  Knot  and  the  nation.  Within 
a  week,  for  news  had  come  to  travel  rapidly,  they 
learned  that  the  nation  had  agreed  with  them,  and  they 
congratulated  the  nation  on  its  good  sense. 

The  Friday  following  the  election,  Buzbee,  Renfro, 
and  Goodwin  set  out  at  three  o'clock,  the  school  having 
been  dismissed  an  hour  earlier  than  usual,  to  camp  for 
the  night  near  the  Falls  of  the  Cumberland,  and  spend 
the  day  Saturday  in  their  explorations.  Mr.  Buzbee 
was  confident  from  the  specimens  of  rock  he  had 
brought  away  with  him  that  the  silver  lode  must  lie 
below  the  falls,  instead  of  above,  and  that  the  wisest 
course  for  this  more  extended  trip  would  be  to  confine 
all  investigation  to  the  lower  strata,  giving  over  all 
thought  of  the  money  that  might  be  hidden  until  they 
should  locate  the  mine.  Renfro  and  Goodwin,  too, 
had  found  occasion  for  some  special  labor,  for  the  sys- 
tem of  land  occupation  which  prevailed  in  Kentucky 
often  resulted  in  overlapping  titles,  and  it  was  judged 
wise  for  them,  before  any  demonstration  was  made,  to 
inspect  carefully  their  titles  as  recorded  at  Whitley 
Courthouse,  and  to  make  good  any  possible  defects. 

Meantime,  working  quietly  in  their  inquiries,  they 
unearthed  a  good  many  interesting  stories  about  the 
mine.  There  was  one  of  an  old  man  and  his  son  who 
were  hunting  in  the  region  near  the  falls.  They  sought 
shelter  from  a  storm  in  a  "rock  house,"  an  overhanging 
cliff  that  deepened  into  a  cave.  The  son,  tiring  of  the 
confinement,  began  a  cautious  exploration  of  the  cave, 
and  passed  straight  back  in  the  darkness  into  a  large 
room,  where  he  found  some  rusty  picks  and  other 
mining  tools,  with  decayed  and  worm-eaten  handles. 
Groping  his  way  still  farther,  he  found  himself  in  an- 


2o8  Pine  Knot 

other  room,  which,  suddenly  illumined  by  a  flash  of 
lightning,  revealed  in  the  streak  of  light  that  pene- 
trated the  dense  shadows  a  great  chest  of  silver.  He 
shouted  to  his  father  to  come  and  help  him  carry  away 
the  wealth  which  he  had  found,  but  in  answer  to  his 
shout  there  rushed  out  at  him  a  frightful  shape,  the 
ghost  of  one  of  the  partners  of  Swift,  who  had  been 
murdered  by  one  of  the  others,  and  who  guarded  this 
treasure  that  lay  beside  his  skeleton.  The  son  and 
father  fled  together  out  into  the  storm,  and  heard  a 
mighty  roar  behind  them  as  the  rock  house  fell,  and 
they  were  never  able  to  find  the  place  again. 

"  It  is  a  superstitious  tale,"  said  Buzbee,  "  but  it 
undoubtedly  has  a  historical  basis.  The  sound  which 
the  boy  heard  was  the  echo  of  his  own  shout;  the 
shape  was  a  creature  of  his  own  excited  imagination, 
or  a  glare  of  light  from  another  lightning  flash;  the 
fall  of  the  rock  house  was  another  roar  of  thunder.  In 
their  fright  they  lost  their  bearings,  and  were  unable 
to  get  back,  which  is  little  wonder.  But  the  cave  is 
there,  somewhere,  and  the  mouth  is  doubtless  open." 

There  were  other  dark  tales  of  murder  and  rob- 
bery, of  the  frequent  discovery  of  the  mine  or  of  some 
part  of  the  buried  treasure,  and  the  sudden  disaster  or 
flight  of  those  who  found  it. 

"  If  we  find  it,  we  shall  not  leave  it,"  said  Mr.  Buz- 
bee. 

"  I've  got  a  silver  dime  in  this  pistol,"  said  Good- 
win. "  That'll  stop  a  witch,  and  I  reckon  it  will  a 
ghost." 

So  eager  had  been  their  search  above  the  falls,  that 
the  falls  themselves  had  hardly  been  noticed  on  their 
first  visit,  though  the  roar  of  the  plunge  could  be  dis- 


The  Circular  Rainbow  209 

tinctly  heard  for  a  long  distance.  But  on  this  visit  it 
became  necessary  to  inspect  the  rock  at  and  below  the 
falls,  and  this  brought  to  Mr.  Buzbee's  view  the  beau- 
tiful cataract.  Shut  in  between  high  ranges  of  hills, 
the  river  wasted  its  wealth  of  scenery  where  few  human 
eyes  beheld  it,  but  if  the  stream  above  and  below  was 
beautiful,  that  at  the  falls  was  of  transcendent  beauty. 
The  three  men  stood  upon  the  bluff  beside  the  curtain 
of  falling  water,  just  as  the  sun  was  rising  over  the 
hill  to  the  east,  and  the  November  wind,  that  was  crisp 
but  not  cold,  was  playing  with  the  mist,  Mr.  Buzbee 
gazed  above  him,  beneath  him,  and  about  him,  now 
at  the  glorious  sunrise,  and  then  at  the  whirling,  foam- 
ing abyss  that  lay  seventy  feet  below,  and  for  a  time 
forgot  the  wealth  which  he  was  seeking  in  the  wealth 
of  that  rare  moment. 

A  rainbow  came  and  vanished  in  the  spray,  and,  as 
he  drew  nearer  to  the  verge,  the  arc  lengthened,  until, 
lying  prone  upon  his  face  and  looking  into  the  pool 
below,  he  saw  the  rainbow  increased  to  a  complete 
circle.* 

"  It  is  the  rainbow  of  our  hope !  "  he  cried,  "  and 
it  is  complete !  See,  see !  "  They  could  not  hear  his 
words  for  the  din  of  the  waters,  but  they  looked  where 

*  At  the  Cave  of  the  Winds,  at  Niagara,  one  is  told  by  the 
guide,  and  in  the  printed  descriptions,  that  this  is  the  only  spot 
on  the  globe  where  one  may  see  a  rainbow  that  is  a  complete 
circle.  It  is  a  mistake.  At  the  Falls  of  the  Cumberland  the 
author  has  seen  a  circular  rainbow.  There  is  no  reason  why  it 
should  not  be  seen  at  other  cataracts  under  favorable  conditions 
of  sun  and  mist,  if  the  observer  can  secure  a  suitable  viewpoint. 
The  lack  of  this  in  general  accounts  for  the  extreme  rarity  of 
the  phenomenon. 


2IO  Pine  Knot 

he  pointed,  and  dragging  themselves  to  the  edge  of 
the  cHff,  they  looked  at  the  seven-hued  circle,  if  not 
with  his  appreciation,  at  least  not  without  admiration 
and  awe.  Then  with  a  feeling  as  if  a  benediction  had 
come  down  upon  them,  they  clambered  down  the  rocks, 
and  renewed  their  search. 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   widow's   revenge 

It  can  not  be  claimed  that  the  success  of  the  closing 
month  of  school  was  wholly  due  to  the  labor  of  the 
teacher.  Faithful  his  work  had  been  in  the  beginning, 
and  rare  had  been  his  devotion,  but  the  last  month  was 
something  of  a  contrast.  Not  that  he  meant  to  slight 
it,  but  his  mind  was  elsewhere.  He  came  in  the  morn- 
ing barely  in  time  for  the  beginning  of  the  day's  work, 
and  was  off  at  night  as  soon  as  school  was  dismissed. 
He  brought  books  to  school  which  were  not  text- 
books, and  was  seen  reading  at  noontime  so  intently 
that  he  once  forgot  to  call  school  until  half  an  hour 
after  the  time.  On  Fridays  he  was  of?  as  soon  as  school 
was  over,  and  once  he  did  not  return  on  Saturday  night. 

"  It  is  holy  work,"  he  said.  "  There  never  was  more 
sacred  work  than  this,"  and  he  came  back  fatigued  to 
the  point  of  exhaustion  late  on  Sunday  night.  His 
wife  and  daughter  were  anxious.  He  talked  to  them 
little,  and  when  he  spoke  it  was  in  terms  which  they 
little  understood. 

"  My  dear,"  said  he  to  his  wife,  "  it  is  unconsti- 
tutional to  take  private  property  for  public  purposes 
without  just  compensation.  The  money  consideration 
thus  makes  abolition  almost  impossible,  and  the  care 


212  Pine  Knot 

of  the  emancipated  slaves  will  be  a  task  nothing  less 
than  Herculean.  But  we  have  the  resources  in  sight, 
my  dear.  They  are  almost  within  our  grasp,  and  they 
are  consecrated  to  this  object." 

"  Has  Goodwin  consecrated  his  share  ?  "  asked  Bar- 
bara, somewhat  cynically. 

"  Not  formally — no.  But  his  interest  will  grow, 
I  make  no  doubt.  The  scheme  must  appeal  to  him.  I 
have  talked  with  him  but  little,  in  fact.  We  have  been 
busy  with  the  preliminaries.  But  my  own  third,  my 
dear,  is  ample.  Let  me  tell  you  that  I  now  believe 
we  have  located  the  lobe.  We  have  worked  long  at 
it,  and  have  explored  right  and  left.  I  am  confident 
that  we  have  it.  It  is  exactly  under  the  falls.  The  cata- 
ract itself  has  been  the  angel  at  the  gate  with  drawn 
sword,  forbidding  entrance  into  this  cave  of  untold 
wealth.  The  sides  have  caved  as  the  falls  have  re- 
ceded, and  the  detritus  covers  the  stratum  which  bears 
the  ore  at  almost  every  exposed  point,  and  those  that 
are  exposed  are  so  inaccessible  that  they  can  not  well 
be  found.  In  one  such  place,  however,  I  have  found 
the  marks  of  picks  and  the  holes  made  by  drills  for 
blasting.  But  this  I  did  not  find  till  I  had  first  located 
the  stratum  behind  the  sheet  of  water." 

"You  climbed  behind  the  falling  water,  father?" 
asked  Mrs.  Buzbee  anxiously. 

"  Yes,  my  dear.  I  will  admit  that  it  seemed  dan- 
gerous. But  we  had  searched  up  and  down,  and  I  had 
been  able  to  examine  almost  all  the  exposed  strata 
except  that.  The  way  was  narrow  and  the  rocks  were 
slippery,  and  the  roar  behind  the  falls  was  terrific,  but 
we  gained  it,  and  there  I  found  these  specimens.  See 
them  sparkle ! " 


The  Widow's  Revenge  213 

He  held  them  in  the  Hght,  and  the  shining  little  par- 
ticles glistened  brightly. 

"  There  are  millions  of  tons  of  it !  "  he  said. 

"  Are  you  sure  it  is  silver,  father  ?  "  asked  Bar- 
bara. 

"  Silver,  my  dear  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Buzbee,  with  just 
a  touch  of  annoyance,  so  rare  in  him.  "  What  else  can 
it  be?    Of  course  it  is  silver." 

"  Have  you  analyzed  it?  " 

"  Not  yet.  We  must  contrive  a  little  crucible,  and 
then  a  larger  one.  I  am  studying  now  the  process  by 
which  we  may  '  cupel,'  as  they  call  it,  the  molten  ore. 
I  have  been  buying  books.  My  dear,  I  am  sorry  to 
say  that  I  have  had  to  spend  the  last  three  dollars  I 
received  from  tuition  fees  for  another  work  on  min- 
eralogy. I  know  we  needed  it,  my  love,  but  bread  is 
a  secondary  matter  to  us  now.  In  this  great  cause, 
'  man  shall  not  live  by  bread  alone.'  " 

"  If  you  are  sure  that  is  silver,  father,"  said  Bar- 
bara, "  we  can  spare  the  tuition  fees ;  but  if  it  is  not, 
we  shall  be  short  of  food  before  the  end  of  next  week." 

"  Bear  with  me  for  a  few  anxious  weeks,  my  dears. 
If  I  rob  you  it  is  that,  being  poor,  we  may  make  many 
rich." 

Barbara  looked  at  her  mother,  and  saw  the  tears 
rising,  and  she  went  over  and  kissed  her. 

"  Never  mind,  mother.  We  have  not  yet  come  to 
the  condition  of  old  Mother  Hubbard.  There's  a  pie 
in  the  cupboard,  and  I  mean  to  make  a  hoecake,  the 
best  that  you  ever  saw. — And  you,  father,  shall  have 
some,  too,  and  you  shall  watch  me  turn  it.  Do  you 
think  I  could  toss  it  up  the  chimney,  and,  running 
out  of  the  house,  catch  it  the  other  side  up?     I  am 


214  Pine  Knot 

told  that  no  mountain  girl  is  fit  to  marry  till  she  can 
do  so." 

So  the  matter  settled  itself  at  home,  and  at  school 
it  moved  on  fairly  well.  Barbara  went  daily  now,  and 
taught  a  number  of  her  father's  classes,  and  Fletcher 
took  others.  Mr.  Buzbee  gave  daily  talks  on  geology, 
interesting  the  first  day  or  two,  but  monotonous  as 
he  got  beyond  the  depth  of  the  pupils,  and  was  mani- 
festly rehearsing  his  own  reading  rather  than  primarily 
instructing  his  school.  His  other  classes  he  heard  in 
a  listless  way,  though  Barbara's  reminders  saved  him 
several  mistakes.  But  fortunately  it  was  near  the  end 
of  the  term,  and  the  thought  of  the  school  was  on  the 
exhibition.  So,  while  there  was  some  complaint,  and 
even  Bill  Blake  joined  in  it  sparingly,  while  Noel  Davis 
was  vehement,  the  dissatisfaction  was  not  so  general 
but  that  the  interest  in  the  exhibition  overtopped  it. 

At  night  Mr.  Buzbee  was  busy  with  his  lump  of 
charcoal  and  an  extemporized  blowpipe,  which  he 
produced  as  soon  as  he  came  home,  and  put  out  of 
sight  reluctantly  on  the  appearance  of  Fletcher.  The 
evenings  were  less  enjoyable  than  formerly,  partly  be- 
cause of  his  preoccupation,  and  partly  also  because 
Fletcher  noticed  a  change  in  Barbara.  But  he  loved 
her  the  more  as  she  seemed  further  from  him,  and  she, 
alas!  there  were  moments  when  she  almost  regretted 
her  rash  promise  to  Liberty  Preston.  But  she  and 
Liberty  remained  warm  friends.  And  Liberty  herself 
came  to  see  that  it  might  be  possible  for  Barbara  to 
turn  Fletcher  away,  but  impossible  for  her  to  deliver 
him  over  to  her. 

"  Liberty,"  said  Barbara,  "  I  want  you  to  come 
over  and  spend  the  last  week  with  me." 


The  Widow's  Revenge  215 

"  You  mean  to  stay  at  your  house  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  we  shall  be  working  together  for  the  ex- 
hibition, and  we  can  plan  better  if  we  are  together  at 
night." 

Liberty  hesitated  and  said,  "  I  don't  believe  that's 
the  reason  you  asked  me." 

"  That's  one  reason." 

"  Do  you  think  I  better?  " 

"  I  don't  see  what  harm  it  can  do." 

"  Well,  I'll  come  over  this  one  night.  But  I  won't 
come  again.  No,  Barbara,  you  needn't  urge  me.  I'm 
not  going  to  put  myself  in  his  way.  One  night  at  your 
house  is  all  right,  but  I  ain't  going  there  reg'lar." 

Mr.  Buzbee  was  manifestly  disappointed  to  see  Bar- 
bara bring  home  a  friend.  "  My  child,"  he  said,  "  I 
am  glad  to  have  you  hospitable,  but  this  is  incon- 
venient. I  have  an  experiment  of  unusual  interest  on 
hand  to-night,  and  Mr.  Renfro  and  Mr.  Goodwin  are 
coming  over." 

"  My  love,"  said  Mrs.  Buzbee,  "  where  will  she 
sleep  ?    And  what  can  we  give  her  to  eat  ?  " 

"  She  will  sleep  with  me,  of  course.  It  is  not  un- 
usual for  a  family  and  their  guests  to  occupy  one  room. 
Have  I  not  been  invited  to  *  go  by  '  with  forty  families 
with  an  average  of  a  dozen  children  and  only  one 
room?  And  as  to  eating,  fear  not,  mother  dear;  I'll 
make  a  famous  hoecake. — And,  papa,  you  may  just  put 
away  your  old  rocks  and  pipe  and  charcoal.  You're 
going  to  sit  up  and  be  sociable  to-night." 

Soon  Liberty  came  over,  and  the  chicken  which 
she  brought  from  Mrs.  Lake's  certainly  did  improve 
the  supper, 

Goodwin  and  Renfro  came  that  evening,  disap- 


2i6  Pine  Knot 

pointed,  indeed,  that  they  could  not  pursue  their  ex- 
periment, yet  taking  in  the  situation.  So  they  sat  be- 
fore the  fire  and  cracked  chestnuts  and  ate  popcorn, 
and  had  a  rather  merry  evening.  Fletcher  came,  too, 
and  Barbara  held  him  and  her  father  to  the  lesson, 
for  she  wanted  Liberty  to  see  how  the  time  was  spent. 
But  when  the  lesson  was  over,  she  caused  him  to  move 
up  his  chair,  and  she  had  him  set  il  beside  Liberty's. 
Fletcher  entered  heartily  into  the  spirit  of  the  occasion, 
and  was  pleasant  with  Liberty,  though  Liberty  felt 
sure  he  would  have  liked  his  chair  beside  Barbara's. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  when  the  men  rose  to  go.  That 
was  a  very  late  hour  for  any  of  them,  and  all  apolo- 
gized for  staying  so  long.  But  before  they  got  away 
the  door  was  pushed  open  and  in  stalked  Widow 
Braniman.  She  had  never  entered  the  door  before, 
but  had  ridden  up  to  the  step  and  called.  She  had 
come  on  foot  to-night,  and  was  wet  from  fording  the 
branch.  She  pushed  the  door  open  without  a  word, 
and  strode  in.  She  was  taken  aback  for  a  moment 
by  the  presence  of  so  many  people,  but  it  was  only  for 
a  moment. 

"  Good  evening,  Mrs.  Braniman,"  said  Barbara. 
"  Take  a  chair." 

"  I  won't  do  nothin'  of  the  sort,"  she  replied. 
"  Take  a  cheer  yourself,  and  git  out  of  the  way 
with  it ! " 

She  was  quivering  with  anger  as  she  spoke. 

"  Mrs.  Braniman,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee,  "  what  is  the 
meaning  of  this?  " 

"  What  is  the  meanin',  you  biscuit-faced  old  hypo- 
crite !  You  know  what's  the  meanin' !  I  want  you  to 
fetch  back  Noel  Davis  1 " 


The  Widow's  Revenge  217 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  good  woman " 


"  Daggon  ye !  Call  me  yer  good  woman,  and  I'll 
hit  ye ! " 

**  Look  here.  Mis'  Braniman,"  interposed  Renfro. 
"  This  ain't  no  way  to  act.  What's  come  over  ye  ? 
What's  the  matter  of  ye  ?  " 

"  Why,  Mr.  Buzbee  here,  he  sot  me  up  to  be  good 
to  Noel  Davis,  so's  he'd  talk  to  me,  and  I  done  it,  and 
he's  ben  a-comin'  and  a-comin',  and  I  hadn't  no  man- 
ner of  suspicion  but  what  he  was  talkin'  to  me  all  the 
time ;  and  to-night  he's  run  ofi  to  Tennessy  with  my 
oldest  darter  Sal,  and  they're  goin'  to  git  married,  ef 
they  ain't  married  a'ready !  " 

"  Well,  now,  that's  too  bad,"  said  Renfro.  "  But, 
say.  Mis'  Braniman,  hit  don't  make  no  difference, 
p'tic'lar,  as  I  see :  hit's  all  in  the  fambly." 

"  You  shet  up.  Bill  Renfro !  You  needn't  a-make 
fun  of  me !    I  ain't  in  no  mood  for  that." 

"  But,  say.  Mis'  Braniman,  think  how  much  better 
this  is.  You've  got  a  heap  better  chance  at  him  as 
a  mother-in-law  than  as  a  wife,  and  you  ain't,  as  you 
might  say,  responsible  fur  him  so  much.  Don't  you 
see?" 

"Be  you  in  airnest  or  be  you  jest  a-devilin' 
me?" 

"  Dead  in  airnest,  Mis'  Braniman.  Why,  looky 
here :  they  ain't  but  mighty  few  men  I'd  want  fer  hus- 
bands, nohow,  and  jest  between  you  and  me  and  the 
post,  Noel  ain't  one  of  'em.  But  they's  a  heap  I'd  Hke 
to  be  mother-in-law  to,  and  Noel's  the  very  first  one 
I'd  take  to  train." 

There  was  a  hearty  laugh  all  round  at  this,  and  even 
the  widow  joined  in  it. 


2i8  Pine  Knot 

"  There  is  times,"  she  said,  "  when  I  more'n  half 
suspicion  that  you  ain't  more'n  half  idiotic." 

"  Thank  ye.  Mis'  Braniman.  You're  complimen- 
tary to-night.  Now,  what  you've  said  is  true,  and  this 
here  is  one  of  my  good  nights.  Now,  ef  I  was  you, 
I'd  be  a  first-class  mother-in-law  to  Noel,  I  would  for 
a  fact.  I'd  make  him  come  to  taw.  Why,  Mis'  Brani- 
man, you've  got  the  opportunity  of  a  lifetime,  as  I 
heerd  a  feller  say.  Dog  my  cats  if  you  ain't!  Noel 
needs  such  a  combin'  as  you've  got  it  in  your  power 
to  give,  he  jest  pinely  does." 

Mrs.  Braniman  thought  it  over  for  a  moment,  then 
she  burst  into  a  hysterical  laugh,  which  modulated 
into  a  cry,  and  ended  in  a  laugh  no  longer  hysterical, 
but  determined  and  a  trifle  threatening. 

"  I'll  do  it,"  she  said.  "  Don't  none  of  you  here  say 
a  word.  I'll  pack  up  my  mess  of  young  uns  and 
move  over  and  live  with  him,  and  ef  I  don't  comb  his 
wool!" 

"  I  wouldn't  be  too  hard  on  Noel,"  said  Mr.  Good- 
win. 

"  Shet  up !  "  said  she.  "  Daggon  me  if  I  wouldn't 
like  to  be  your  mother-in-law !  " 

"  Noel's  enough  for  a  starter,"  said  Renfro. 

"  You  have  other  daughters,  haven't  you  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Buzbee,  seeking  to  turn  the  conversation. 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  "  I've  had  sorter  bad  luck  with 
'em.  The  chimbly  fell  down  and  killed  all  but  nine 
of  'em." 

Mr.  Buzbee  had  heard  this  before,  but  he  had  for- 
gotten it,  and  now,  as  then,  he  extended  his  sympa- 
thy, which  was  spurned.  The  widow  felt  better, 
however,  for  getting  off  her  accustomed  joke,  and 


The  Widow's  Revenge  219 

rose  to  go,  charging  all  to  be  silent  concerning  her 
visit. 

"  I  won't  let  him  know  that  I've  been  mad,"  said 
she,  "  and  you  mustn't  none  of  you  let  on.  I  had  to 
walk — Sal  rode  off  on  my  horse.  I  keered  more  for 
that  than  for  Noel,  anyhow.' 

So  she  departed  much  less  angry  than  she  came, 
but  she  never  forgave  Mr.  Buzbee.  Both  she  and  Noel 
were  from  this  time  forth  his  implacable  enemies. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE    MEANING   OF   IT 

There  was  no  pretense  of  getting  the  company 
inside  the  schoolhouse.  They  built  fires  in  the  woods 
and  ate  their  dinner  about  them,  coming  in  in  detach- 
ments to  listen  to  the  examination  in  the  morning,  the 
grand  general  exercise  which  preceded  the  afternoon 
recess,  and  the  spelling  match  which  concluded  the 
daytime  programme.  The  wind  whistled  about  the 
house  and  found  its  way  through  the  cracks,  but  the 
great  fireplace  was  filled  till  the  fire  dogs  groaned,  and 
the  back  log,  that  had  required  four  men  to  bring  in, 
glowed  cheerily. 

The  trustees  were  out  in  force.  The  law  required 
one  trustee  to  visit  the  school  each  week,  and  the  trus- 
tees never  considered  their  office  a  sinecure.  Noel 
Davis  was  present  with  his  new  wife.  They  rode  one 
horse,  and  Mrs.  Braniman  rode  her  own,  so  that  one 
point  was  evidently  settled  in  her  favor. 

The  winter  sun  set  early,  and  the  exhibition,  con- 
sisting of  dialogues,  recitations,  essays,  and  music, 
began  "  at  early  candle  lighting,"  which  was  before 
six  o'clock. 

However  willing  the  people  had  been  to  take  turns 
in  the  afternoon,  there  was  a  universal  desire  to  get  in 


The  Meaning  of  it  221 

for  the  evening;  and  it  was  wonderful  to  see  how  the 
log  walls  expanded  to  take  in  the  multitude.  Pine 
Knot  was  there  in  force,  from  Granny  White  to  babies 
in  arms,  whose  mothers  nursed  them  as  they  sat  the 
exhibition  out. 

People  near  the  walls  got  cold  and  people  near  the 
fire  got  hot,  so  there  was  a  constant  movement  to  and 
from  the  fire,  but  every  square  inch  of  floor  was  filled. 
There  had  been  some  drinking,  and  a  few  men  from 
a  distance  were  noisy,  but  they  were  removed  with- 
out trouble,  and  the  exhibition  proceeded  in  order. 

So  the  children  spoke  their  pieces  and  sang  their 
songs,  and  the  older  pupils  read  their  essays  and  went 
through  with  their  dialogues.  Fletcher  made  a  speech 
for  the  pupils ;  four  of  the  larger  girls  sang  a  farewell 
song  which  ended  in  sobs ;  Bill  Blake  made  a  speech 
for  the  trustees,  in  which  he  said  that  this  had  been  the 
best  school  ever  kept  in  Pine  Knot,  and  that  it  was  the 
universal  desire  of  the  patrons  that  the  teacher  would 
make  up  a  subscription  school  and  continue  two 
months  longer,  or  at  least  till  Christmas  ;  and  Mr.  Buz- 
bee  made  his  closing  address,  thanking  patrons,  pupils, 
and  friends,  and  thus  the  term  came  to  a  close.  The 
complaints  of  the  last  month  were  all  silenced  in  the 
glory  of  the  finale,  and  John  Howard  Buzbee  rejoiced 
in  the  consciousness  of  success.  It  was  a  rare  feeling 
with  him,  and,  notwithstanding  some  inattention  in 
the  closing  weeks,  he  richly  deserved  it. 

In  answer  to  the  request  that  he  would  continue, 
and  teach  a  subscription  school,  he  replied  that  for  the 
present  he  had  other  and  important  interests,  but  that 
he  would  consider  the  matter,  and  perhaps  would  do 
so  later.    It  was  evident  that  his  mind  was  upon  some- 


222  Pine  Knot 

thing  else,  and  curiosity,  already  rife  about  the  mys- 
terious trips  of  the  three  men,  now  linked  together 
all  manner  of  impossible  fancies.  Perhaps  the  least  im- 
probable of  these,  and  the  one  most  currently  credited, 
was  that,  aided  by  Goodwin  and  Renfro,  whom  he  had 
converted,  or  who  had  been  bribed  by  Northern 
money,  they  were  making  a  refuge  for  fugitive  slaves 
far  back  in  the  mountains. 

Such  rumors  gain  credence  in  inverse  ratio  to  their 
probability,  and  as  the  public  generally  comes  to  its 
conclusion  by  the  elimination  of  possibilities,  and 
pounces  upon  the  one  that  is  left,  so  it  came  to  pass 
that  people  in  general,  having  easily  disposed  of  the 
few  other  theories  that  presented  themselves,  settled 
back  content  with  this. 

Therewith  grew  up  a  strong  feeling  of  opposition  to 
Mr.  Buzbee.  It  was  not  so  much  because  he  was  an 
abolitionist — though  a  name  is  ever  a  fearful  thing, 
and  a  man  is  saved  or  half  damned  in  popular  thought 
as  soon  as  he  can  be  made  to  answer  to  one — but  be- 
cause he  was  concealing  something.  It  made  him 
other  and  more  formidable  than  he  had  first  appeared. 

"  I  tell  ye,"  said  Noel  Davis,  as  he  sat  before 
Blake's  store,  looking  up  the  road  with  anxiety  now 
and  then  lest  his  mother-in-law  should  fulfill  her  threat 
and  ride  after  him  to  husk  corn — "  I  tell  ye,  we've  been 
a-harborin'  a  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing.  What's  he  off 
here  in  the  woods  fur,  keepin'  a  little  school?  He 
could  be  a  senator  or  a  big  preacher  or  something  of 
the  sort  if  he'd  a-wanted  to." 

"  Or  a  doctor,"  said  Neze  Post.  "  I  had  a  cattle 
buyer  sick  at  my  hotel  one  night,  and  we  went  for  him, 
and,  by  gum,  he  uncurled  him  from  where  he  was  all 


The  Meaning  of  it  223 

drawed  up  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  had  him  stretched 
out  and  drapin'  off  to  sleep  in  ten  minutes." 

"  Did  he  charge  him  anything?"  asked  Blake, 

"  No.     He  wouldn't  make  no  charge,  but " 

"  You'd  ought  to  'a'  added  that  to  your  bill,  Neze," 
said  Best. 

"  I  reckon  so.  I  ain't  larned  your  way  of  keepin' 
hotel  yet.  But  I  was  a-goin'  to  say  the  man  gin  him 
five  dollars.  He  left  it  with  me,  and  I  tuck  it  over  and 
gin  it  to  his  gal." 

"  Lucky  you  gin  it  to  her  fur  bread  and  butter, 
stidder  givin'  it  to  him  for  his  abolition  tracks,"  said 
Blake.  "  They  keep  a-comin'.  Every  mail  fetches 
him  something,  but  they're  books  now,  mostly." 

"  I  don't  guess  he's  lacked  fur  bread  and  butter," 
said  Noel.  "  He's  allers  had  enough  when  I've  been 
thar,  and  he  ain't  had  a  cent  of  his  school  money  yit. 
That  won't  come  in  till  New  Year's." 

"  How  d'ye  s'pose  he's  lived?  "  asked  Post. 

"  They's  been  tuition,  and  a  heap  o'  things  brung 
in  on  account  of  him  not  boarding  around,"  said 
Blake. 

"  That  wouldn't  dress  his  wife  and  gal  the  way 
they're  dressed,"  said  Davis. 

"  They  had  them  clothes  before  they  come,"  said 
Blake.    "  They  ain't  bought  hardly  a  rag  here.'' 

"  Yes,  but  how'd  he  git  'em  thar,  I'd  like  to  know  ? 
And  how's  he  able  to  be  so  daggon  independent  about 
takin'  money  for  doctorin'  ?  "  demanded  Noel. 

Alas!  ever  since  Paul  was  accounted  no  apostle 
because  he  preached  the  gospel  without  charge,  it  has 
been  thus  that  men  have  found  in  generosity  the  final 
argument  against  its  possessor.     Mr.  Buzbee's  ability 


224  Pine  Knot 

to  live  without  money  was  the  convincing  proof  to 
many  besides  Noel  that  he  was  in  the  pay  of  an 
abolition  society  contemplating  some  sinister  under- 
taking. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  reckon  they're  goin'  to  do  with 
the  niggers  when  they  git  a  hull  passel  of  them  oflf 
thar  by  the  river?  "  asked  Best. 

No  one  answered  for  a  moment.  Noel  Davis,  how- 
ever, filled  his  pipe  with  a  self-conscious  air  that  drew 
attention  toward  him.  He  did  not  hurry  about  filling 
it  either,  but  went  inside  for  a  coal  and  came  out  put- 
ting it  down  on  the  top  of  his  tobacco. 

"  I've  got  an  tdy,"  he  said. 

"What  is  it?  "asked  Best. 

Noel  puffed  away  for  some  moments  to  get  his 
pipe  well  started,  and  held  the  attention  of  all  while 
he  was  doing  it.  Such  a  tribute  does  the  world  pay 
now  and  then  to  the  man  who  has  an  idea.  It  is  rare, 
to  be  sure,  but  at  rare  intervals  it  stops  its  senseless 
chatter  and  waits  for  the  idea  to  clarify  while  the  pos- 
sessor thereof  gets  his  pipe  a-going.  Such  a  tribute  at 
this  moment  did  Pine  Knot  pay  to  Noel  Davis,  and 
Noel  prolonged  it  with  a  delicious  sense  of  variety. 

"  Well  ?  "  demanded  Blake,  growing  impatient. 

"  Yer  settin'  on  the  aig  of  that  idy  a  consid'rable 
spell,  Noel,"  said  Best. 

"  It's  done  hatched,"  said  Noel. 

"  I  allowed  it  was  addled  by  this  time.  Well,  trot 
it  out." 

"  Do  you  fellers  remember  John  Brown  ?  "  asked 
Noel. 

"  The  one  they  hung  in  Ole  V'giny  ?  " 

"  Yep." 


The  Meaning  of  it  225 

"  I  don't  guess  we've  ary  one  of  us  forgot  him," 
said  Blake.    "  What  d'ye  mean  ?  " 

"  He's  another,"  said  Davis  laconically. 

"Another  what?" 

"  Another  John  Brown." 

"  You  go  to  thunder !  " 

"What  fur?" 

"  Mr.  Buzbee  ain't  no  fighter !  " 

"  Ain't  he  ?  And  all  the  time  the  boys  was  a-hold- 
in'  ofif  and  not  barrin'  him  out  of  the  schoolhouse 
because  he  seemed  so  sorter  meachin',  wasn't  he 
a-packin'  stuff  in  his  little  bag  that  he  packs  to 
school  every  day  to  blow  the  schoolhouse  higher 
than  Gilderoy's  kite?  You  think  they  ain't  no  fight 
in  him !  Well,  mebby  one  of  you  wants  to  face  him, 
that's  all.  Still  waters  runs  deep,  I've  heerd  tell, 
and  I'll  be  hanged  ef  I  ain't  more  a-feard  of  a  quiet, 
sneakin'  cuss  that  pretends  to  be  one  thing  and  is 
another  than  I  be  of  a  man  with  a  gun  out  in  the 
open." 

All  this  was  new  to  all  but  Noel,  and  was  a  rather 
wide  deduction  from  Mr.  Buzbee's  pound  of  sulphur. 
But  it  had  its  impression.  Even  Blake  was  moved  by 
it,  and  the  rest  almost  shuddered  as  they  thought  of  the 
schoolhouse  blown  to  atoms,  and  coming  down  with 
shattered  members  of  Pine  Knot  children  over  the 
adjacent  portions  of  the  two  States  of  Kentucky  and 
Tennessee. 

"  Well,  Noel  ?  "  said  Best,  as  the  former  paused  to 
resume  his  smoking. 

"Well,  you  know  what  that  man  Brown  was 
meanin'  to  do — how  him  and  the  secessioners  of  the 
North  was  a-goin'  to  upset  the  Gov'maint  and  make 


226  Pine  Knot 

a  new  one  with  a  nigger  for  President  and  a  nigger 
Congress,  and  nigger  sheriffs  and  postmasters  and  all 
that.  Well,  they  had  to  let  go  of  that  fur  a  while,  for 
the  niggers  wouldn't  fight,  but  they  had  shipped  in 
a  lot  of  rifles  and  knives  and  pikes  and  things  to  arm 
the  niggers  with." 

Again  he  paused  and  the  silence  showed  that  his 
argument  was  followed  with  interest. 

"  But  Mr.  Buzbee  ain't  had  no  guns  shipped  in," 
said  Blake. 

Noel  still  smoked  in  silence. 

"  Noel !  "  said  Best. 

"Wha'  d'ye  want?" 

"  Wake  up,  and  go  on !  " 

"  I've  got  done." 

"  No,  ye  hain't." 

"  Well,  wha'  d'ye  want  me  to  say  ?  " 

"  Bill  says  Buzbee  ain't  had  no  shootin'  arms 
sent  in." 

"He  does,  does  he?" 

"  Yes,  and  you  heerd  him,  and  you  didn't  say 
nothin',  but  jest  went  on  smokin'  and  lookin'  like  you 
didn't  believe  it." 

"  Well,  if  Bill  Blake  says  so,  I  reckon  hit  must 
be  so." 

"  Daggon  ye,  what  d'ye  mean  ?  " 

"  I  hate  to  tell  a  good  feller  like  Bill  he  lies." 

"  Look  here,  Noel,"  said  Blake,  "  go  on  and  tell 
what  ye  know,  and  shet  up  yer  no  'count  talk." 

"  Well,  if  you  say  he  ain't  had  no  guns  sent  in,  I 
ain't  a-goin'  to  dispute  ye." 

"  I  was  a-sayin'  what  I  believe,  and  what  I'm  goin' 
to  believe  till  I  git  some  proof.   If  you've  got  any  proof, 


The  Meaning  of  it  227 

spit  it  out  and  not  set  thar  talkin'  like  a  cymlin  - 
headed  fool." 

"  Well,  he  ain't  had  much  of  anything  shipped  in 
here,  has  he  ?  " 

"  Nothing  but  his  mail,  and  his  abolition  tracks 
and  books,"  said  Blake. 

"  Well,  if  he  wanted  anything  sent  in  that  was 
honest  and  right,  he'd  be  likely  to  have  it  come  here, 
wouldn't  he  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  no  reason  why  not." 

"  Well,  you  don't  see  no  sorter  reason  why  he 
should  be  shippin'  in  stuff  by  way  of  Rockhold,  do  ye, 
ef  what  he's  gittin'  is  straight  goods  ?  " 

"  There  mout  be  and  then  there  moutn't,"  said 
Bill,  not  to  be  drawn  too  far  in  preliminary  conces- 
sion. 

"  Well,  mebby  you  kin  think  of  some  good  reason 
for  him  havin'  stuff  sent  in  by  way  of  Rockhold,  and 
packin'  it  off  to  the  river,"  said  Noel,  knocking  the 
ashes  from  his  pipe,  and  slowly  rising  as  if  to  go  home. 

"  I  don't  have  no  cause  to  think  up  no  reason  yet," 
said  Blake. 

"You  don't?" 

"  No.  I  hain't  no  reason  to  think  he  done  no  sech 
thing." 

"  Oh,  well,  if  you  hain't,  all  right.  But  I  know  he 
has  done  it." 

"  Has  had  guns  sent  to  Rockhold  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  say  they  was  guns." 

"What  was  they?" 

"  Bill  Blake,  sometimes  you  talk  like  a  daggon  fool. 
S'posin'  they  was  guns,  would  they  be  marked  guns 
on  the  boxes  ?    Was  that  the  way  John  Brown's  things 


228  Pine  Knot 

was  sent  in  ?  Was  that  the  way  them  Berea  folks  had 
their  stuff  sent  in  ?  " 

"  The  Berea  folks  didn't  have  no  guns,"  said  Blake. 
"  That  was  only  a  thing  for  making  candles." 

"  That's  what  they  said,"  said  Noel. 

"  That's  what  it  was"  said  Blake.  "  I've  seen  'em 
myself  in  Loussville,  to  save  dippin'.  And  them  folks 
that  drew  'em  out  is  fools.  That  man  Rogers  is  as 
good  a  man  as  you'll  find  in  Kaintuck,  and  Fee,  for  all 
he's  an  abolitionist,  is  as  white  a  man  as  you  be,  and 
a  blamed  sight  more !  " 

"  Then  why  did  they  drive  'em  out?  " 

"  'Cause  they  was  a  set  of  fools,  and  skeered  at  a 
candle  mold." 

"  All  right,"  said  Noel.  "  Hit's  time  for  me  to  go. 
They  ain't  much  fun  arguin'  with  a  man  that  is  so 
daggon  sure  he  knows  it  all.  That's  why  I  git  sorter 
tard  talkin'  to  Mis'  Braniman.  But  she's  an  improve- 
ment on  you.  Bill,  the  way  you're  feelin'  this  evenin'. 
I  reckon  I'd  best  go  home.  Hit's  gittin'  to-wards 
night,  and  I  wasn't  a-lookin'  for  no  mail  p'tic'lar." 

"  Well,  hold  on  here.  Afore  you  go,  tell  us  a 
little  more  about  that  stuff  he  had  sent  to  Rockhold." 

"  Well,  Mis'  Braniman  was  over  that  away  last 
week.  She's  got  kinfolks  thar  and  at  the  Joefields. 
She  was  a-feelin'  sorter  tard,  and  she  'lowed  that,  now 
she  had  some  one  to  leave  the  young  uns  with,  she'd 
sashay  around  a  little  more.  And  I  wasn't  in  no  sorter 
notion  of  astin'  her  not  to  go,  ef  she  wanted  to.  And 
over  thar  she  heerd  about  him  a-gittin'  some  boxes  of 
heavy  stuff  shipped  in  thar.  They  come  from  the 
North,  somers,  and  they  didn't  have  no  idy  what  was 
in  'em,  and  didn't  suspicion  nothin',  till  Mis'  Brani- 


The  Meaning  of  it  229 

man  up  and  told  'em  about  his  bein'  a  abolitionist  and 
bein'  off  in  the  woods  by  the  river  on  some  big  abo- 
lition scheme.  She  told  'em  of  his  quare  talk  about 
the  greatest  thing  that  had  been  done  for  humanity, 
and  some  sich  she'd  heerd,  and  I  reckon  from  the  way 
she  tells  it  she  got  'em  consid'able  stirred  up.  The 
Rockholds  owns  niggers,  you  know,  and  so  does  a 
heap  o'  others  about  there.  And  one  of  'em  by  the 
name  o'  Perkins  has  a  nigger  that  kin  read,  and  Buz- 
bee  met  him,  and  says,  '  Say,'  sezee,  '  kin  you  read  ? ' 
*  Yes,  massa,'  says  the  nigger,  *  I  kin  read.'  *  Read 
that,'  sezee,  and  he  gin  him  a  track  on  slavery  by  John 
Wesley,  with  some  stuff  writ  onto  it  by  John  G.  Fee. 
Well,  the  niggers  there  is  mostly  Methodists,  and  they 
think  Wesley's  one  of  the  angels,  like  Gabriel,  I  reckon, 
and  they  all  know  about  Fee,  and  think  he's  a  prophet. 
Perkins  had  to  lick  the  nigger  to  make  him  tell,  and 
he  gin  up  the  track.  Perkins  is  goin'  to  the  gran'  jury 
next  Monday  and  git  a  indictmaint  agin  Buzbee  if  he 
kin.  If  he  cyan't,  then  there's  other  ways  o'  killin' 
a  cat  besides  chokin'  'em  on  hot  butter." 

"Have  you  seed  Perkins  yourself?"  demanded 
Blake. 

"  Mebby  I  have  and  mebby  I  hain't,"  replied  Noel. 

"  Be  you  goin'  to  court  a  Monday  ?  " 

"  Mebby  I  be  and  mebby  I  ain't,"  he  answered 
again. 

"  Well,  what  I  want  to  know  is,  be  you  and  Per- 
kins and  a  litter  of  them  Rockhold  fellers  fixin'  up  a 
plan  to  run  Mr.  Buzbee  off?  " 

"  Looky  here.  Bill  Blake,"  replied  Noel,  "  I  ain't 
on  the  witness  stand,  and  you  ain't  no  jury.  Now 
I've  said  all  I'm  a-goin'  to,     Lordy,  I  wisht  the  old 


230  Pine  Knot 

woman  was  over  there  yit.  I  ain't  the  man  I  onct  was, 
boys.  Things  is  consid'able  changed  at  home.  Not 
that  I've  got  anything  to  say  agin  Mis'  Braniman. 
She's  a  mighty  smart  woman.  But  gittin'  married 
has  its  resks — it  has,  fer  sure." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE   GLORIOUS    DISCOVERY 

"  Is  your  pa  at  home  ?  "  asked  Bill  Blake  on  Sun- 
day morning, 

"  No,"  said  Barbara,  "  he  has  gone  with  Mr.  Ren- 
fro  and  Mr.  Goodwin." 

"To  the  river?" 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"  How  long's  he  been  gone  ?  " 

"  Since  Monday." 

"  Ever  stay  like  this  afore  ?  " 

"  No ;  he  could  not,  on  account  of  the  school.  He 
is  much  interested  in  some  work  there." 

Bill  Blake  rode  off  again.  He  fed  his  horse  and 
ate  his  own  dinner,  thinking  very  hard  the  while. 
Then  he  saddled  his  horse  again  and  started  toward 
the  river. 

"  They's  two  more  jurymen  on  Marsh  Creek,"  he 
said.    "  I'll  see  them,  anyhow,  and  mebby  I'll  go  on." 

He  called  on  the  first  of  the  jurymen  as  he  passed. 

"  Howdy,  Dave  ?  "  he  called  from  the  fence. 

"  Howdy,  Bill  ?  Light  and  come  in  and  set 
with  us." 

"  No.  Hain't  got  time,  I  reckon.  Say,  you  and 
Nick  Tetters  is  on  the  jury,  ain't  ye?" 

l6  231 


232  Pine  Knot 

"  Yes.  Nick's  here  now,  come  over  to  see  about 
gittin'  off  in  the  mornin'." 

"That  so?  Well,  that's  lucky.  Call  Nick  and 
come  to  the  fence. — Howdy,  Nick?  You  two  on  the 
gran  jury  ?  Well,  I'll  be  daggoned !  Ef  hit's  come 
to  this !  I  reckon  they's  a  pretty  good  show  fer  the 
rest  of  us  ef  the  jury  begins  at  home !  " 

'*  You  jest  git  off  that  nag  and  talk  that  away  to 
me,"  laughed  Nick,  "  and  I'll  duck  ye  in  the  branch." 

"  No  more'n  I  expected ! — You  hear  him,  Dave ! 
You'll  have  obleeged  to  sware  to  what  he's  a-sayin' 
now !  That's  a  threat  of  'sault  and  battery !  But  to 
a  feller  that's  done  as  much  devilmaint  as  Nick  has, 
one  more  'sault  don't  count,  har'ly.  Well,  when  they 
make  up  juries  outer  sich  fellers  as  you  alls,  hit's  pore 
show  fer  honest  men." 

"  Quit  that  slander,  now,  and  save  yourself  a 
lickin'.  I'm  a-goin'  to  report  you  to  the  jury  fer 
sellin'  me  cotton  jeans  for  all  wool." 

"  All  right,  all  right !  I  only  wisht  I  could  make 
you  pay  the  value  of  cotton." 

Strangers  to  Pine  Knot  have  sometimes  accused 
its  residents  of  lacking  a  sense  of  humor.  There  are 
different  kinds  of  humor,  and  Pine  Knot  simply  over- 
flowed with  its  own  kind.  It  was  thus  that  its  people 
were  wont  to  meet,  and  preface  their  serious  busi- 
ness with  remarks  of  this  character. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  know  ?  "  asked  Dave. 

"  I  know  you  fellers  is  likely  to  do  a  heap  more 
harm  than  what  you  do  good,  and  I  come  over  to  put 
a  stop  to  some  of  it.    You  know  our  teacher  ?  " 

"Buzbee?" 

"  Yep." 


The  Glorious  Discovery  233 

"  Seed  him  at  the  exhibition.  He's  a  main  buster, 
ain't  he?" 

"  Best  teacher  ever  we  had,  and  as  good  a  man 
as  ever  Uved." 

"  He's  a  abolitionist,  ain't  he  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  a  mighty  white  one.  But  he's  stirred  up 
a  hornet's  nest  of  some  sort  over  in  Rockhold,  and 
they're  comin'  down  to  the  gran'  jury  to-morrow  to 
git  a  indictmaint  agin  him  for  incitin'  slaves  to  run 
away.  Noel  Davis  is  behind  it,  and  he's  a  first  cousin 
to  the  old  scratch,  and  his  mother-in-law,  she's  got  a 
tongue  that  the  devil  started  to  make  into  a  rattle- 
snake, but  got  it  too  long.  Now,  I  don't  know  what 
they're  goin'  to  swear  to.  This  man  Buzbee's  the 
smartest  man  and  the  foolishest  ever  I  seed.  In 
some  points  he  ain't  got  no  more  jedgmaint  than  a 
child.  He's  ofif  in  the  woods  now  on  some  fool  scheme, 
huntin'  rocks  or  bugs  or  toads  or  some  blamed  thing 
or  other — I  dunno  what,  nor  keer — and  them  fools  is 
jest  fool  enough  to  think  he's  goin'  to  lead  an  army 
of  niggers  out  there  into  the  wilderness,  and  feed 
'em  with  manna,  I  reckon,  and  they've  gone  as  crazy 
as  he  is  about  it.  I  jest  thought  I'd  ride  over  and  say, 
if  the  matter  comes  up, '  Don't  you  pay  no  sorter  atten- 
tion to  it'  " 

It  was  on  this  wise  that  Bill  Blake  had  gone  the 
rounds  of  the  jurymen  within  reach,  and,  whether  he 
had  any  influence  or  not,  the  records  show  that  an  at- 
tempt was  made  to  secure  an  indictment,  and  that  it 
failed  for  lack  of  sufficient  evidence.  But  Noel  Davis 
was  at  court  that  Monday  on  other  business  than  that 
which  the  court  recorded,  and  he  carried  with  him  a 
paper  to  which  he  secured  a  number  of  signatures, 


234  Piric  Knot 

pledging  the  signers  to  secure  the  removal  of  J.  How- 
ard Buzbee  from  the  county,  "  peaceable  if  we  can, 
forcible  if  we  must." 

Having  done  so  much,  Bill  Blake  felt  some  curi- 
osity to  know  what  the  three  were  actually  doing  back 
in  the  hills.  Some  thought  was  in  his  mind  that  he 
had  earned  a  right  to  know;  some  thought  as  well 
that  positive  knowledge  on  his  part  would  make  him 
of  service;  and  some  also  that  Mr.  Buzbee  ought  to 
be  warned.  That  Mr.  Buzbee's  intentions  were  honor- 
able he  fully  believed ;  that  Renfro,  also,  though  less 
altruistic,  was  above  all  schemes  of  dishonor,  he  also 
believed.  But  he  just  as  truly  believed  that  Renfro 
was  on  no  quest  of  bugs  or  toads,  and  that  Goodwin 
was  not  spending  his  time  and  labor  without  some 
thought  of  his  own  interest.  So  he  did  not  lack 
motives  to  turn  his  horse's  head  toward  the  river,  and 
as  the  afternoon  was  waning  he  hastened.  He  had 
gathered  enough  to  feel  sure  that  the  work  in  progress, 
whatever  its  character,  was  at  the  falls,  where  he  knew 
the  land  of  Goodwin  and  Renfro  joined.  Thither  he 
rode  as  fast  as  hi^  good  horse  could  carry  him. 

Fording  the  river  he  turned  down  stream,  and 
nearing  the  cataract,  hitched  his  horse,  and  clambered 
among  the  rocks.  A  fire  attracted  his  attention  to 
a  ravine  hard  by,  and  he  stepped  cautiously  thither. 
A  small  furnace  was  belching  and  roaring,  and  Buzbee, 
Renfro,  and  Goodwin  were  standing  beside  it,  intently 
regarding  a  small  molten  mass. 

"  This  is  the  moment  that  proves  it,"  said  Mr. 
Buzbee. 

"  Is  it  now  we  get  the  coloring?"  asked  Goodwin 
eagerly. 


The  Glorious  Discovery  235 

"  What  do  you  know  about  the  coloring  ? "  de- 
manded Renfro. 

"  I've  Hstened  at  Mr.  Buzbee  when  he's  told  us," 
said  Goodwin. 

"  He  has  quite  astonished  me  by  his  apt  learning," 
said  Mr.  Buzbee.  "  It  is  to  his  suggestion  we  are  in- 
debted for  our  present  success.  We  could  not  have 
done  this  without  the  charcoal." 

"  I  only  hope  we've  got  it,"  said  Renfro.  "  What's 
the  coloring  ?  " 

"  At  the  instant  the  last  of  the  lead  is  absorbed  by 
the  cupel —    You  get  my  meaning,  do  you  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't." 

"  Well,  we  introduced  the  lead  into  our  former 
blast  to  separate  the  silver  from  the  slag." 

"  I  know  that." 

"  Now,  we  are  refining,  or  cupelling,  as  the  term 
is,  so  as  to  separate  that  lead  from  the  silver." 

"  Yes,  I  understand." 

"  Well,  this  cup  we  have  made  out  of  the  bone  ash 
and  wood  ash  mixed  and  molded  is  called  a  cupel, 
and  is  made  to  absorb  the  lead." 

"  I  understand." 

"  Now,  the  instant  that  the  last  lead  is  absorbed 
we  shall  see  a  beautiful  sight.  It  is  known  as  the  cor- 
uscation, or  coloring.  It  is  the  sure  test  of  pure  silver. 
It  will  not  come  unless  we  have  silver  nor  until  it 
is  pure.     A  rainbow  streak  will  shoot —    See !  see !  " 

They  drew  so  close  to  the  furnace  that  the  heat 
must  have  burned  their  faces.  A  minute  they  watched 
the  colored  prismatic  lights  shoot  back  and  forth 
across  the  surface  of  the  ashed  dish.  Blake  could 
almost  see  its  reflection  in  their  faces. 


236  Pine  Knot 

"  That's  hit,  ain't  it?  "  asked  Renfro. 

Goodwin  did  not  need  to  ask.  He  took  a  long- 
handled  shovel,  and  slipping  it  under  the  dish,  re- 
moved it  from  the  fire.  The  dish  broke  as  he  set  it 
down,  and  the  silver  ran  out  and  cast  itself  into  a 
little  ingot  in  a  depression  of  the  rock.  They  all  stood 
above  it  a  moment  in  silence.  Goodwin  burned  his 
fingers  in  his  eagerness  to  hold  it  in  his  hand.  Renfro 
cried : 

"  They's  enough  in  that  little  bit  of  ore  to  make 
a  silver  dollar !  " 

His  estimate  was  a  close  one. 

Buzbee  stood  without  a  word  till  the  little  bar  was 
picked  out  and  handed  around.  Then  holding  it  in 
his  hand,  he  seemed  suddenly  possessed  with  a  new 
spirit. 

"  It  is  true !  "  he  cried.  "  Thank  God,  it  is  true ! 
All  my  dreams,  all  the  travail  of  centuries,  have  waited 
for  this  moment !    Glory  to  God !  glory  to  God !  " 

Goodwin  and  Renfro  shouted  with  him,  and  the  roar 
of  the  great  cataract  found  its  echo  in  their  rejoicings. 
Blake  heard  them,  felt  the  thrill  of  their  enthusiasm, 
and  then,  remounting  his  horse  with  a  guilty  feeling, 
hastened  away. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

FOR  THE   CAUSE    OF    FREEDOM 

Mr.  Buzbee  came  home  late  that  Sunday  night. 
He  was  haggard  and  worn,  and  had  a  troublesome 
cough,  the  result  of  exposure  to  the  damp,  cold  winds. 

"  My  dear,"  said  he,  "  I  must  leave  you  for  a 
time." 

"  You  have  been  leaving  me,  John,"  said  Mrs. 
Buzbee.  "  We  have  seen  very  little  of  you  since 
school  closed." 

"  I  know,  dear.  And  I  must  be  absent  still  more. 
I  am  going  North." 

"  What  will  you  do  North,  husband  ?  These  are 
times  of  excitement  there.  It  is  no  time  to  do  your 
work." 

"  It  is  the  fullness  of  time,"  said  he.  "  It  is  the 
time  for  which  the  ages  have  waited ! " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  We  have  made  our  discovery !  " 

"  O  father!  is  it  really  silver?"  asked  Barbara. 

"  Yes,  my  child.    It  is.    See  here !  " 

He  laid  a  little  ingot  on  the  table,  and  they  exam- 
ined it  with  interest.  Barbara's  cheeks  flushed,  and 
her  mother,  even,  grew  less  pale.  She  had  been  un- 
usually pallid  lately. 

237 


238  Pine  Knot 

"  And  this  actually  came  from  your  mine  ?  " 

"  It  did,  my  love.     We  smelted  it  to-day." 

"To-day,  father?    This  is  Sunday." 

"  And  therefore  the  more  appropriate  day  for  such  a 
discovery.  This  is  the  most  glorious  day  the  earth 
has  seen  since  Jesus  rose  from  the  dead.  Nay,  think 
me  not  irreverent.  I  was  never  so  reverent  as  at  this 
moment.  Sometimes  in  these  dark,  anxious  years 
I  have  questioned  the  Divine  goodness.  All  this  I 
now  acknowledge  to  you,  and  I  repent  of  it.  My  faith 
was  never  so  strong  as  to-day.  As  I  have  ridden 
home  this  night,  a  weary,  weary  ride,  tired  in  body  and 
in  brain,  I  have  felt  the  pomp  of  the  conqueror,  return- 
ing in  triumph!  I  have  ridden  to  the  music  of  the 
morning  stars  which  sang  in  echo  to  the  shout  of 
the  sons  of  God  when  they  beheld  the  wonders  of 
creation!  These  mountains,  my  dears,  these  moun- 
tains, the  home  of  free  men,  shall  build  the  shrine  of 
a  more  perfect  freedom.  These  mountains  that  have 
given  to  the  world  Helper's  great  book,  The  Impend- 
ing Crisis,  shall  show  to  the  world  how  that  crisis  may 
be,  and  please  God  shall  be,  averted.  These  moun- 
tains— baptized  with  the  tears  of  Lundy  and  Birney 
and  Fee  and  Clay,  and  the  blood  of  the  heroes  of  King's 
Mountain  and  the  Alamance — these  mountains  shall 
give  of  the  silver  in  their  rich  veins  as  they  have  given 
the  blood  in  the  veins  of  their  sons  for  human  free- 
dom." 

If  at  another  moment,  and  in  lack  of  other  proof, 
Barbara  had  seen  in  her  father  only  the  visionary  and 
the  deluded  enthusiast,  she  could  not  doubt  him  now. 
He  stood  so  erect,  so  grand,  he  uttered  his  eloquence 
with  such  a  consciousness  of  unselfish  loyalty  to  truth 


For  the  Cause  of  Freedom  239 

and  goodness,  that  Barbara  and  her  mother  were  both 
swept  away.  Barbara  seized  the  httle  bar  of  silver  and 
kissed  it  again  and  again,  and  handed  it  to  her  mother, 
who  bent  over  it  and  wept. 

"  And  now — oh,  my  dear,  dear  noble  father,  we 
shall  never  be  poor  again,  shall  we  ?  " 

"  No,  my  love,  we  are  rich." 

"  And  you  will  take  comfort,  and  buy  yourself 
better  clothes,  and  us  a  home,  will  you  not  ?  " 

"  Perhaps — perhaps.  But  I  had  not  thought  of 
this.  I  can  not  rest  now.  There  is  much  to  be  done. 
I  must  go  North,  and  see  my  old  friends,  who  are  abo- 
litionists, and  sell  stock  in  this  mine,  the  profits  to  be 
devoted  to  the  cause  of  freedom.  I  will  go  first  of  all 
to  Abraham  Lincoln,  and  from  there  I  will  go  to 
Boston  and  see  Garrison  and  Phillips  and  the  rest." 

"  But  how  will  you  go  ?  " 

"  Renfro  and  Goodwin  furnish  the  money,  and 
charge  it  against  the  profits  of  the  mine.  Mr.  Good- 
win suggested  that  I  should  discount  my  school  war- 
rant, and  thus  secure  the  money,  and  I  consented,  but 
Renfro  reminded  us  that  you  would  need  it  to  live 
upon  while  I  go." 

"  Thank  God !  "  said  Mrs.  Buzbee. 

"  That  man  Goodwin  is  a  villain,"  said  Barbara. 

"  No,  no,  my  daughter,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee.  "  He 
has  become  a  very  ardent  friend  of  the  cause  of  free- 
dom !  It  is  he  who  has  suggested  the  plan  of  dispos- 
ing of  these  shares  of  stock  to  abolitionists." 

"  Tell  us  your  plan  of  organization,"  said  Mrs. 
Buzbee. 

"  Renfro  is  president,  Goodwin  is  treasurer  and 
general  manager,  and  I  am  secretary." 


240  Pine  Knot 

"  Judas  still  carries  the  bag,"  said  Barbara. 

"  Do  not  malign  him,  my  daughter,"  said  her 
father ;  "  he  has  shown  wonderful  skill  in  this  matter. 
He  has  learned  smelting  and  refining  quite  as  fast  as 
I.  Indeed,  at  one  time  I  was  almost  persuaded  that 
we  were  deceived,  but  he  quickened  my  hope  again 
with  a  suggestion  that  brought  success.  The  work  of 
refining,  or  cupelling,  which  is  done  with  lead,  he  took 
under  his  charge,  and  will  henceforth  have  the  entire 
work  of  smelting,  while  Renfro  employs  the  labor  and 
I  sell  the  stock.  But  as  yet  all  is  a  secret.  We  have 
carefully  hidden  all  traces  of  our  work  till  I  get  money 
enough  to  establish  a  furnace  of  sufficient  size,  with 
crushers  and  power,  to  do  our  work.  The  falls  will 
furnish  power  for  our  blast  fans,  the  woods  will  fur- 
nish our  charcoal ;  we  have  all  we  need  at  hand.  I 
have  the  analysis  here.  It  shows  twenty  grains  to  the 
ounce.  Twenty  grains,  my  dears,  and  with  almost  no 
expense  for  smelting!  There  are  uncounted  millions 
there!  Now,  there  are  perhaps  four  million  slaves. 
One  fifth  are  men,  one  fifth  women,  and  the  rest  chil- 
dren. If  the  children  are  worth  two  hundred  dollars 
each,  the  women  six  hundred,  and  the  men  a  thou- 
sand, there  is  an  average  of  less  than  five  hundred 
dollars,  or  about  two  billion  dollars  for  the  whole. 
That  is  a  vast  sum,  and  the  Government  would  never 
pay  it,  because  the  people  could  not  be  brought  to 
vote  for  the  payment  of  so  much  from  the  treasury 
direct.  But,  provide  the  money,  and  all  is  easy !  And 
the  money  is  here! — money,  not  only  for  their  free- 
dom, but  money  also  for  their  education  and  to  pro- 
vide them  with  homes.  The  supply  is  unlimited. 
Under   forty-eight   feet  of  conglomerate   rock,   over 


For  the  Cause  of  Freedom  241 

which  the  falls  dash,  are  eighteen  feet  of  black,  lami- 
nated shale,  with  clay-iron  stones,  and  six  feet  of  sili- 
ceous shale  that  is  simply  full  of  silver.  Think  of  it, 
eighteen  feet  of  silver  ore!  And  the  mountains  there 
are  underlaid  with  it.  Goodwin  and  Renfro  are  buy- 
ing more  land,  though  they  own  now  a  vast  tract, 
quite  adequate  for  our  needs." 

"  Are  you  to  be  paid  a  salary  for  your  services  as 
secretary  ?  " 

"  No,  we  share  alike.  But  my  expenses  are  to  be 
paid.  Oh,  but  we  have  had  a  weary  time !  We  sent 
for  tools — we  had  to  have  them — and  after  many  and 
painful  failures  we  sent  for  a  small  crucible.  We  dared 
not  have  them  come  by  way  of  Pine  Knot.  We  had 
them  sent  to  Rockhold.  It  was  hard  getting  them 
over  the  mountains,  for  we  had  to  have  them  sent 
securely  boxed  to  avoid  suspicion.  Meantime  we  had 
built  furnace  after  furnace.  We  found  remains  of  one 
of  Swift's  furnaces,  which  confirms  our  discovery, 
though  it  needed  no  confirmation.  I  wish  we  might 
have  found  some  of  his  hidden  money.  We  sorely 
need  some  at  the  start  to  develop  our  plant.  But  no 
matter.  We  can  toil  and  wait,  as  we  have  done  in  the 
past.  But  success  is  ours,  my  dear,  success  is  ours, 
and  the  glory  is  God's !  " 

There  was  that  in  his  manner  which  awed  them 
both  as  he  spoke.  A  shade  of  weariness  passed  over 
him,  and  then  his  face  lighted  up  again. 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  he,  a  litle  more  softly,  and 
with  a  reverent  hush  that  made  his  words  the  more 
distinct,  "  I  feel  to-night  as  Jesus  did  when  he  returned 
in  the  power  of  the  Spirit  into  Galilee.  In  the  power  of 
that  same  Spirit  I  shall  return  to  the  North.    I  shall 


242  Pine  Knot 

say  as  he  said,  '  The  Spirit  of  the  Lord  God  is  upon 
me,  to  preach  deliverance  to  the  captives  and  the  re- 
covering of  sight  to  the  bhnd,  and  to  set  at  liberty  them 
that  are  bruised,  and  to  preach  the  acceptable  year  of 
the  Lord ! '  Oh,  my  dears,  after  this  is  over,  I  must 
return  to  the  pulpit  again !  There  is  the  great  oppor- 
tunity, after  all !  But  meantime  I  must  preach  this 
glorious  message,  and  I  will  ring  in  the  ears  of  the 
nation  the  glad  word,  '  This  day  is  this  Scripture  ful- 
filled in  your  ears ! '  " 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

THE   MOB,    THE   MAN,    AND   THE   GHOSTS 

The  six  muffled  figures  paused  under  the  dead 
sycamore  tree  at  the  forks,  and  discussed  the  plan  a 
little  before  proceeding. 

"  I  wisht  they  was  more  of  us,"  said  one  of  them. 

"  Hit's  a  sight  easier  to  sign  a  paper  than  to  come 
up  to  taw,"  said  another. 

"  Mebby  we'd  best  put  it  off,"  said  Noel  Davis. 

"Put  it  off?  And  then  what?  Be  you  goin'  to 
fetch  us  over  here  from  Rockhold  agin  for  nothin'  ?  " 
asked  another  testily. 

"  Don't  git  mad.    You've  been  drinkin'  too  much." 

"  No  more'n  you  have.  You're  plumb  drunk,"  re- 
torted the  other. 

"  Here,  boys,  this  won't  do.  Are  your  masks  all 
right?" 

"  I  reckon  so." 

"  Well,  we'll  ride  up  to  the  house  and  fetch  him  out, 
and  then  we'll  come  back  to  this  tree,  and  like  as  not 
they'll  be  more  here  by  the  time  we  git  back.  They 
got  to  come  this  way,  one  road  or  t'other." 

With  some  misgivings  they  assented,  and  soon 
the  house  was  surrounded,  and  a  voice  called  out, 
"  Hello ! " 

243 


244  Pine  Knot 

"  What  is  wanted  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Buzbee  from  his 
bed. 

"  I  want  Mr.  Buzbee.  There's  a  woman  sick  over 
here  a  piece." 

"  I  will  come  at  once,"  he  said.  "  Wait  till  I  get 
my  clothes  on." 

He  rose  and  dressed,  and,  opening  the  door,  was 
seized  on  the  threshold  by  two  men,  who  threw  him 
heavily  upon  his  back  and  bound  him  hand  and  foot. 
It  was  over  in  a  minute,  almost  before  Mrs.  Buzbee 
could  scream.  A  heavy  hand  was  laid  upon  her  mouth, 
and  the  masked  figure  with  the  other  hand  put  out 
the  light. 

"  Stay  where  ye  be,  right  in  this  bed,  and  don't  ye 
stir  nor  make  a  light,  or  we'll  shoot  it  out !  " 

They  were  gone,  and  Barbara  and  her  mother  lay 
for  a  few  moments  in  terror.  Then  Barbara  slipped 
from  the  bed  and  hastily  put  on  her  clothes.  "  Lie 
still,  mother,"  she  said.  "  Do  not  move  from  where 
you  are.    I  will  go  for  help." 

Thankful  for  the  act  which  had  put  out  the  light, 
she  slipped  through  the  open  door  and  around  the 
house.  Her  heart  was  beating  violently.  Wakened 
from  sound  sleep  to  deathly  terror,  alone  and  in  the 
power  of  masked  and  desperate  men,  it  was  little  won- 
der that  she  trembled.  But  she  gained  courage  as 
soon  as  she  was  free  from  the  house  and  found  the  way 
unguarded.  She  hastened  toward  the  road,  yet  stopped 
midway.  They  had  halted  at  the  tree  in  the  fork. 
She  crept  nearer  and  yet  nearer,  and  there  against 
the  white  trunk  she  saw  her  father,  tied  to  the  tree,  and 
surrounded  by  his  captors,  some  mounted  and  some 
on  foot. 


The  Mob,  the  Man,  and  the  Ghosts    245 

Seeing  no  opportunity  of  assisting  him,  she  crept 
away  again,  and,  making  a  detour,  gained  the  road. 
If  she  could  only  get  to  Renfro's  or  the  hamlet !  But 
they  were  between  her  and  these.  The  nearest  house 
was  Granny  White's,  and  she  sped  thither.  She  was 
running,  breathless,  down  the  crooked  road,  when  she 
fell  into  the  arms  of  a  man,  who  held  her  just  a  mo- 
ment, first  in  surprise  and  then,  perhaps,  almost  un- 
consciously, for  joy. 

"  Why,  Miss  Barbara !    Is  this  you  ?  And  so  late !  " 

"  O  Mr.  Fletcher !  "  she  cried,  clinging  to  him.  "  I 
am  so  glad  to  find  you !  Oh,  come  with  me,  and  help 
my  father !  They  have  bound  him !  They  are  masked 
and  armed !    Come,  come !  " 

She  seized  his  hand,  and  would  have  dragged 
him  on. 

"  Stop !  "  said  he.  "  Tell  me  first,  that  I  may  know 
what  to  do." 

"  There  are  five  or  six  of  them,"  said  she.  "  I  do 
not  know  who  they  are.  They  lied  to  him,  and  told 
him  a  sick  woman  needed  him,  and  they  sprang  upon 
him  when  he  opened  the  door  to  go  with  them.  Oh, 
the  cowards,  the  brutes !  " 

"  And  where  are  they?    Speak  a  little  lower." 

"  Down  by  the  tree  at  the  fork  of  the  road." 

"  Wait  till  I  cut  a  club,"  said  he.  "  We  will  release 
him." 

They  walked  back  together,  arm  in  arm.  They 
were  near  the  house,  when  he  said : 

"  Miss  Barbara,  have  you  heard  the  story  about  that 
tree?" 

"  Yes,"  said  she.  "  You  met  the  ghost  there,  you 
remember." 


246  Pine  Knot 

"  Yes.    You  have  the  sheets  ?  " 

"I  have  them.    Why?" 

"  These  men  outnumber  us.  Besides,  they  are 
armed.  But  they  are  superstitious,  and  I  know  how 
dreadful  a  thing  in  white  can  be  made  to  look  in  the 
dark.  We  must  recall  the  ghost  of  Deek  Morgan. 
Slip  into  the  house  and  get  the  sheets.  I  will  wait 
for  you  outside." 

"  O  Barbara,  my  child,  is  that  you  ?  "  asked  her 
mother  anxiously. 

"  Sh — h !  mother,  do  not  speak !  I  will  be  back 
soon !    Mr.  Fletcher  is  with  me !  " 

Barbara  returned  in  a  few  moments.  "  They  were 
more  kind  than  they  thought  when  they  put  out  the 
light,"  said  she. 

"  Come,"  said  Fletcher,  and  he  led  the  way  around 
through  the  woods  behind  the  tree  and  at  a  safe  dis- 
tance. 

"  Now,"  said  he,  "  you  must  help  me  to  be  a 
ghost." 

"  No,  no !  "  said  she.  "  You  would  never  do.  I 
will  be  the  ghost.  I  will  wrap  myself  in  these,  and 
frighten  those  who  are  to  be  frightened  by  ghosts,  and 
you  must  go  around  with  your  stick,  and  fall  upon 
them  as  they  run." 

"  I  don't  like  to  have  you  do  so,"  said  he.  "  They 
are  armed." 

"  But  they  will  hardly  shoot  at  a  ghost ;  and  if  they 
do,  it  is  too  dark  for  certain  aim.  Besides,  even  if 
there  is  danger,  it  is  my  father  for  whom  I  face  it." 

"  Very  well,  then.  We  should  act  quickly.  They 
may  be  waiting  for  re-enforcements.  I  will  go  around 
and  get  as  near  as  possible.    You  move  straight  ahead. 


The  Mob,  the  Man,  and  the  Ghosts   247 

and  be  sure  that  I  shall  be  ready  to  support  you  as 
soon  as  you  get  there." 

Save  for  the  bottle  that  went  around  more  times 
than  once,  there  was  little  pleasure  among  the  group 
at  the  foot  of  the  tree.  The  Rockhold  men  were  blam- 
ing Noel  that  he  had  not  brought  out  a  larger  Pine 
Knot  contingent,  and  he  was  threatening  them  all  that 
he  would  turn  State's  evidence  against  them  if  they  did 
not  proceed. 

"  But  we  ain't  enough,"  protested  one  of  the  men. 
"  A  thing  of  this  sort  ain't  safe  unless  there's  twenty- 
five  at  the  least.  The  grand  jury  will  never  indict  a 
crowd,  but  a  half  dozen  is  sure  to  ketch  it  every 
time."  These  two  sat  on  their  horses.  The  others, 
two  of  whom  held  their  horses  by  the  bridle  rein, 
stood  near.  After  this  quiet  conference,  they  ap- 
proached Mr.  Buzbee,  who  stood  tied  to  the  trunk 
of  the  tree,  and  removed  his  gag. 

"  Looky  here,  old  feller,"  said  one  of  them,  "  if  we 
let  ye  go,  will  ye  git  out  of  here  ?  " 

"  I  make  no  promises,"  said  he  quietly. 

"  If  ye  don't,  we're  a-goin'  to  strip  ye  and  lick  ye 
like  blazes ! " 

He  made  no  answer. 

"Will  ye  go?" 

"  I  have  told  you  that  I  would  make  no  promise." 

"  Well,  ye  cyan't  talk  no  more  abolition  talk  in  this 
county,  we  kin  tell  ye  that." 

Again  he  was  silent.  They  thought  that  he  was 
considering  the  matter,  and  pressed  him  again. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  your  threats  do  not  move 
me.  Right  is  on  my  side,  the  law  is  on  my  side,  God 
is  on  my  side,  and  final  success  is  on  my  side.  I  am 
17 


248  Pine  Knot 

alone  and  at  your  mercy.  Do  your  worst.  You  may 
flay  me,  burn  me,  crucify  me,  but  you  can  not  move 
me. 

There  was  nothing  of  boastfulness  is  his  tone. 
An  enthusiast  he  was,  a  visionary,  but  no  coward  and 
no  boaster,  and  each  of  them  felt  in  his  heart  that  he 
said  the  truth. 

"  Let's  let  him  go,"  said  one  of  them, 

"  Let  him  go,  ye  cowards  ?  "  said  Davis.  "  If  ye 
do,  ye  won't  let  me  go,  I  kin  tell  ye  that !  " 

So  they  stopped  and  drowned  their  dissension  in 
another  drink. 

"  Boys,"  said  one  of  them,  "  ain't  this  the  place 
they  say  has  a  haint  ?  " 

"  Shet  up,  I  tell  ye !  "  said  Noel. 

"What's  that?"  asked  another  of  the  Rockhold 
men.  "  I  never  heerd  tell  of  that.  What  sort  of  haint 
is  it?" 

"  Shet  up,  I  tell  ye !  "  said  Noel. 

"  Look  here,"  said  one  of  them,  "  I  don't  like  this ! 
What  sort  of  trap  is  this  you've  got  us  into  ?  " 

Just  then  the'-e  came  a  faint,  moaning  cry  from 
behind  the  tree.  There  was  a  dead  silence,  and  every 
man  strained  his  eyes.  In  a  moment  there  was  another 
cry,  like  that  of  a  panther,  a  short  distance  up  the 
road.  They  turned  and  looked  in  that  direction.  Noel 
was  the  only  man  who  stirred,  and  he  got  nearer  his 
horse.  Then  there  was  another  cry,  a  shriek  that  al- 
most curdled  their  blood,  from  where  the  first  sound 
had  come  but  nearer,  and  looking,  they  saw  a  gigan- 
tic, tall,  white  figure,  bending,  swaying,  and  approach- 
ing them.  A  single  shot  was  fired  at  it,  but  only  one 
man  stopped  to  shoot.     Pell-mell  they  started,  and, 


"If  we  let  ye  go,  will   ye  git  out' 


The  Mob,  the  Man,  and  the  Ghosts   249 

while  they  were  gaining  their  saddles,  a  great,  huge, 
black  figure  burst  in  among  them,  laying  about  him 
with  a  heavy  green  hickory  stick,  that  raised  a  black 
bruise  wherever  it  struck.  One  of  them  left  his  horse 
and  broke  through  the  woods,  and  another  was  thrown 
and  dragged  by  his  stirrup  as  the  horse  started  furious- 
ly from  a  blow  of  the  club. 

It  took  but  a  minute,  and  when  Fletcher  returned 
from  a  chase  of  the  hindmost,  whose  terror,  lest  the 
devil  should  get  him,  was  not  without  reason,  the  ghost 
was  embracing  the  man  who  stood  bound  to  the  tree. 

Fletcher's  sharp  knife  quickly  cut  the  thongs,  and 
Barbara  was  at  him  again. 

"  O  father,  O  my  dear,  brave  father !  Don't  you 
think  I'm  a  lovely  ghost?  Oh,  I'm  so  glad  we  have 
saved  you ! " 

"  Barbara,  my  child,"  said  her  father,  "  your  ruse 
was  very  skillful,  my  dear. — And,  Mr.  Fletcher,  I  must 
thank  you. — But  now  let  me  hasten  to  your  mother, 
who  must  be  frightened,  I  know.  Take  ofif  those 
sheets  before  you  return,  Barbara.  Your  mother  is 
not  superstitious,  but  she  has  suffered  a  severe  fright, 
and  I  would  not  have  her  see  you  thus.  In  truth  you 
might  well  frighten  any  one." 

"  Help  me,  Mr.  Fletcher,"  said  Barbara.  "  I  am 
entangled  in  my  ghostly  trappings.  Was  I  not  a  tall 
ghost?  I  needed  but  one  sheet  to  wrap  me,  and  hav- 
ing one  to  spare,  I  elongated  myself  with  two  sticks. 
Oh,  it  was  fun  to  see  them  run !  And  you  struck  out 
like  a  gladiator !  I  could  not  see  you  strike,  but  I  could 
hear  your  blows.  O  Mr.  Fletcher !  how  can  I  thank 
you  enough  ?    You  are  so  strong,  so  brave,  so  kind !  " 

Fletcher  was  untying  a  knot,  and  as  she  spoke  it 


250  Pine  Knot 

gave  way,  and  the  sheets  fell  about  her  to  the  ground. 
He  stood  a  moment  with  his  hands  on  her  shoulders, 
then  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  held  her,  unresisting, 
and  kissed  her. 

"  O  Barbara,  Barbara !  "  he  cried.  "  To  be  praised 
by  you  is  worth  a  life !  I  love  you,  my  darling,  I  love 
you ! " 

"  You  must  not,"  she  cried,  though  the  words  hurt 
her ;  "  I  can  not  let  you  speak  so !  " 

"  But  I  love  you,"  he  said.  "  You  can  not  forbid 
my  loving  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  must  not  let  you  do  so.  It 
would  be  wrong.    I  can  not  encourage  it." 

Barbara  was  sincere  in  this;  and  yet  she  thought 
that  he  would  press  his  suit,  and  give  her  opportunity 
to  explain  a  little.  She  did  not  want  to  betray  Liberty, 
nor  on  the  other  hand  did  she  want  Fletcher  to  be- 
lieve her  unmoved  by  his  appeal.  She  waited,  expect- 
ing him  to  proceed. 

Now,  many  a  woman  pausing  thus  and  looking 
back,  has  been  overtaken  like  Lot's  wife ;  and  Barbara 
was  not  wholly  free  from  danger  in  that  moment.  For 
her  heart  swelled  with  admiration  for  the  stalwart 
fellow  who  had  come  to  her  in  the  hour  of  need,  and 
the  cheek  burned  with  a  warm  thrill  where  he  had 
kissed  her. 

But  James  Fletcher  did  not  press  his  suit. 

"  I  did  not  expect  you  to  love  me,"  he  said.  "  I 
know  how  far  above  me  you  are  in  everything.  It  is 
enough  for  me  that  you  know  that  I  love  you.  I've 
never  expected  you  to  love  me.  I  never  expected  to 
tell  you  that  I  loved  you.  But  I  am  glad  to  have  told 
you.    You  praised  me  just  now ;  it  was  heaven  to  hear 


The  Mob,  the  Man,  and  the  Ghosts    251 

you.  It  is  not  that  I  love  flattery.  I  am  ambitious, 
but  not  foolishly  vain.  But  to  merit  your  praise  is  a 
joy !  Oh,  if  I  could  hope  that  you  could  love  me !  But 
I  know  that  this  can  not  be !  I  will  not  ask  it.  But, 
oh,  let  me  ask  this  one  thing :  is  there  any  other  reason 
than  that  I  am  not  good  enough  or  wise  enough  ?  Is 
there  any  one  else  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Barbara,  "  there  is  some  one  else." 

"  I  reckoned  likely,"  said  he. 

"  But "  said  Barbara. 

"  But  what  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

She  bit  her  lip  hard.  What  was  she  about  to  say  ? 
That  the  person  in  the  way  was  not  Boyd  Estill,  but 
Liberty?  That  she  was  refusing  him  not  for  another 
man's  sake,  but  a  woman's  ?  For  shame !  She  would 
say  nothing  of  the  kind.  And,  then,  was  she  so  sure, 
after  all,  that  it  was  not  partly  on  Boyd  Estill's  ac- 
count ? 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked.  "You  do  not 
mean ?  " 

"  No,  no !  "  she  said ;  "  I  do  not  mean  what  you  are 
thinking.  I  have  said  it  and  mean  what  I  say,  and  it 
is  final.  But  I  can  not  have  you  think  that  it  is  be- 
cause you  are  not  more — more " 

"Because  I'm  so  ignorant?" 

"  No,  no !  It's  not  that  at  all !  You  are  not  igno- 
rant! You  are  strong,  brave,  true,  and  you  will  yet 
be  learned!  A  courage  such  as  yours  must  succeed. 
And  you  will  bring  honor  to  the  woman  you  marry. 
She  will  be  proud  of  you !  Yes,  and  I  shall  be  proud 
of  you,  too !  " 

"  To  have  you  for  a  friend  is  more  than  I  deserve," 
said  he. 


252  Pine  Knot 

"  I  am  your  friend,  Mr,  Fletcher,"  said  she,  "  and  I, 
too,  am  in  need  of  your  friendship.  My  dear  father  is 
starting  North,  and  no  one  knows  how  long  he  will 
be  gone.  Our  old  friends  in  Lexington  seem  very, 
very  far  away.    We  shall  need  all  our  friends  here." 

"  Count  on  my  friendship  always,"  said  he. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  she.  "  And  now  I  must  not 
wait  here  another  minute.  Mother  will  be  anxious 
for  me.  Yes,  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  you  walk  with 
me  to  the  house.  Will  you  carry  my  armor?  You 
have  borne  it  once  before  and  right  worthily!  And 
now  I  must  go  in,  mother  will  be  terrified  by  this  ad- 
venture. I  ought  not  to  have  stayed  away  so  long. 
Adieu,  sir  knight !  " 


CHAPTER   XXV 

A   BLUE-GRASS  CHRISTMAS 

"  Christmas  gift,  father ! "  called  Boyd  Estill, 
throwing  his  bridle  rein  to  a  negro  who  was  riding 
on  a  mule  behind  him,  and  flinging  himself  from  his 
horse. 

"  Christmas  gift,  indeed !  And  what  gift  have  you 
brought  me,  leaving  the  house  before  breakfast  and 
oflf  the  whole  morning?  " 

"  A  good  brush,  as  you  see,"  said  Boyd,  exhibiting 
the  tail  of  a  fox.  "  We  had  a  right  good  chase,  and 
old  Major  led  the  hounds  all  the  way." 

"  Ah,  that's  not  so  bad !  I  could  ride  to  hounds 
myself  once.  To  be  gone  the  whole  morning  fox-hunt- 
ing, and  Christmas  at  that,  is  bad  indeed,  but  to  bring 
home  the  brush  is  ground  for  pardon." 

"  I  bring  it  to  you,  sir." 

"  That's  well.  Was  there  no  young  lady  in  the 
party  that  deserved  it  ?  " 

"  Not  any,  sir,"  said  Boyd  with  a  forced  laugh. 
"  I'm  wedded  to  my  horse  and  dogs,  I  reckon." 

"  Ah,  well !  It's  no  harm  in  a  young  fellow.  I 
saw  you  riding  up  the  avenue  from  the  pike ;  hang  me 
if  I'm  not  tempted  to  flog  you  for  riding  so  well.  You'll 
be  thinking  one  of  these  days  that  you  ride  better  than 

253 


254  Pii^^  Knot 

your  father.  But  go  now  and  get  ready  for  dinner. 
Mr.  Bernaugh  will  be  over  right  soon." 

"  I'll  be  ready  soon,  sir. — Here,  Sam !  Tell  Nico- 
demus  to  rub  down  that  horse  well  before  dinner,  and 
give  old  Major  something  good  for  his  Christmas  din- 
ner." 

Mr.  Estill  returned  to  the  fire,  yet  walked  nervously 
to  the  window  from  time  to  time. 

"  Hey  there,  Sam !  "  he  called.  "  Sam !  Here 
comes  Mr.  Bernaugh.    Run  and  take  his  horse." 

He  was  out  at  the  stile  ahead  of  Sam,  however,  wel- 
coming his  guest. 

"  Christmas  gift,  old  friend ! "  he  called,  and  from 
the  quarters  and  kitchen  the  negroes  ran  out  calling, 
"  Christmas  gift !  " 

"Howdy,  howdy?"  called  Mr.  Bernaugh,  flinging 
his  rein  to  Nicodemus. — "  Now,  looky  here,  Nic,  you 
yellow  rascal,  if  you  get  to  studying  about  your  Christ- 
mas dinner  to-day  till  you  forget  to  feed  my  horse, 
I'll  get  me  a  hickory  and  wear  you  out — you  hear?  " 

"  That's  the  way  to  talk,"  laughed  Estill.—"  You 
feed  him  well,  Nic.  I  don't  reckon  he  gets  much  to  eat 
at  home ! — That's  a  fine  horse,  Bernaugh.  Gaited  like 
a  rocking  chair,  isn't  he?  I'd  like  to  own  him.  You 
didn't  think  of  bringing  him  over  for  a  Christmas  gift, 
did  you?" 

"  Not  this  Christmas.  But  that  reminds  me. — 
Here,  Nic!  Here's  something  for  you  alls!— Chloe, 
you  see  that  he  divides  it  fair,  will  you?  And  if  you 
give  us  as  good  a  dinner  as  I  reckon  you  ain't  forgot 
how  to  cook,  I've  got  something  at  home  I'll  send 
by  one  of  my  niggers  when  they  come  over  to-night  to 
help  you  start  in  Christmas  week." 


A  Blue-Grass  Christmas  255 

Nic  led  off  the  horse,  pleased  with  the  largess  and 
with  the  threat  of  the  flogging ;  for  the  latter  was  only- 
Mr.  Bernaugh's  way  of  saying  that  he  knew  his  thor- 
oughbred was  safe  in  Nic's  hands. 

"  Come  in,"  said  Estill.  "  They're  like  a  crowd  of 
children.  You  can't  get  rid  of  'em  at  Christmas  time. 
— Hello,  here,  Brutus !  What  you  hangin'  round  here 
for?" 

"Jest  to  wish  Maws'  Bernaugh  Christmas  gift, 
sah,"  said  the  old  negro. 

"  Hello,  old  nigger !  How're  you  running?  Good 
Lord,  I  thought  you  was  dead ! " 

"  Po'ly,  Maws'  Bernaugh,  po'ly,"  and  then  in  an- 
other tone :  "  No,  sah.  Maws'  Bernaugh,  I  ain't  dead ! 
Ef  I  had  a-ben,  I  know  you  sho'ly  gwine  come  to  my 
funeral,  now  ain'  you?  An'  I'm  gwine  to  live  till 
spring,  bress  de  Lawd ! " 

"  How  do  you  know  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  mos'  ginerally  notice  when  I  live  till  Christ- 
mas, I  lives  t'rough  till  spring !  " 

"  Well,  how  much'U  you  let  me  off  for  ?  I  thought 
when  I  sold  you  I'd  got  done  givin'  you  Christmas 
gifts.  Will  a  dollar  do  you?  All  right!  Now  you 
divide  that  with  Chloe ;  I  promised  her  something  for 
cooking  the  dinner. — And  look  here,  Brutus !  I  told 
Bill  to  ride  over  with  a  haunch  of  venison — did  you 
steal  it  all,  or  will  we  have  some  for  dinner  ?  " 

"  Hit's  dah,  sah.  I  didn't  steal  none  of  it.  Chloe's 
done  roastin'  it  wid  de  turkey." 

"  All  right,  if  you've  left  a  little  of  it." 

"  He's  a  good  honest  nigger,"  said  Estill. 

"  Salt  of  the  earth,  sir ;  salt  of  the  earth,"  said  Ber- 
naugh.   "  I  hated  worst  way  to  sell  him  to  you." 


256  Pine  Knot 

"  Don't  blame  you,  sir ;  not  a  mite," 
"  Him   and   Chloe's    got   another   baby,    I    hear. 
What's  the  name  of  this  one  ?  " 

"  Dog  my  cats  if  I  can  remember ! — Here,  Brutus ! 
What's  the  name  of  the  last  chap  of  yours  ?  " 
"  Bessie,  sah,"  said  Brutus, 

"  Yes,  I  know.     But  call  Dinah. — Here,  Dinah,  I 
want  the  full  name  of  your  Bessie." 
"Yes,  sah.    Hit's 

Bessie  Fee, 
Cora  Lee, 
Who  but  she? 
Estill." 
"  That's  good !      Still  stick  to  your  poetry,  don't 
you?" 

"  Yes,  sah," 

"  And  let's  see.    What  was  the  other  one'  you  had 
since  I  sold  Brutus  ?  " 

"  Joseph  Estill, 
William  Bernaugh, 
Tostle  Paul, 
And  Caleb  after  all, 
Estill," 
"  And  which  of  us  three  do  you  call  him  for — me 
or  Mas'r  Estill  or  the  Apostle  Paul  ?  " 
"  I  calls  him  Benny,  sah." 

"  That's  a  fair  compromise.     Now  we  won't  have 
any  trouble.     And  what's  your  oldest  ?  " 
"  Lena  Belle, 
Arise  and  tell 
The  glories  of  Immanuel, 
Estill." 
"  That's  good.    Here's  half  a  dollar  for  Christmas, 


A  Blue-Grass  Christmas  257 

besides  what  Brutus  has  got  for  you.  Now  you  cook 
that  venison  good,  or  I'll  get  your  Mas'r  Estill  to 
sell  me  one  of  them  little  niggers  of  yours. — You've 
got  a  fortune  in  that  gal,  Estill.  She's  a  poet.  I 
ought  to  have  bought  her,  instead  of  selling  you 
Brutus." 

"  I'd  hated  to  have  sold  her,"  said  Estill,  "  even  to 
you." 

"  And  I  felt  just  so  about  selling  Brutus,  for  all  he's 
so  old." 

"Well,  the  niggers  can't  always  marry  on  the 
plantation,  and  it's  better  to  let  'em  live  together.  I 
had  to  feed  him  Sundays  for  three  years  before  you 
sold  him  to  me,  and  I  reckoned  it  was  cheaper  to  buy 
him  and  done  with  it." 

"  He  was  getting  old,  and  I  reckon  you  got  the 
worst  of  the  trade.  But  I  hate  to  sell  a  nigger  worst 
way  in  the  world.  I  wouldn't  sell  one  on  any  consid- 
eration but  for  his  own  good.  I  did  sell  one  down  the 
river  years  ago,  but  he  was  a  sullen  devil ;  I  couldn't 
manage  him  nohow,  and  I  got  plumb  afraid  to  keep 
him.  But,  except  for  him,  I  never  sold  one  but  to  a 
neighbor  and  for  good  reasons." 

"  Same  with  me.  My  farm's  overrun  with  nig- 
gers now — more'n  I've  got  any  use  for,  but  I  hate  to 
sell  'em.  Now,  sir,  I've  opened  a  bottle  of  the  pride  of 
Bourbon  County  that  my  old  friend  Colonel  Cole 
made  for  me  thirty  odd  years  ago.  It's  cost  me,  prin- 
cipal and  interest,  about  the  price  of  a  good  likely  nig- 
ger, I  reckon,  and  if  that  interest  keeps  running  on, 
I'm  a  bankrupt,  sure !  " 

"  I'll  stop  the  interest  on  one  glass,"  laughed  Ber- 
naugh.    "  Hot,  if  you  please,  and  a  little  sprig  of  mint. 


258  Pine  Knot 

if  you've  got  some  handy.  It's  a  good  appetizer  for 
a  Christmas  dinner.    Where's  Boyd  ?  " 

"  Dressing.  He's  been  off  after  a  fox,  and  got 
him,  too.  He  wouldn't  have  been  back  if  he 
hadn't." 

"  Now,  look  here,  that's  big  talk !  I  used  to  ride  to 
hounds  myself,  and  for  all  I'm  older  than  you,  I  believe 
I  could  outride  you  yet !  But  I've  come  home  a  many 
a  day  without  a  fox." 

"  Boyd  don't." 

"  Well,  now  that  reminds  me.  Do  you  know  any 
reason  why  that  affair  between  him  and  my  girl  didn't 
come  about  better  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  a  thing." 

"  I'm  afraid  Boyd  struck  a  cold  trail  there." 

"  A  fox  and  a  woman  are  two  different  sort  of 
folks." 

"  Ye-es,  maybe  so.  But  I've  often  wondered. 
Estill,  this  is  a  sad  day  for  me.  It's  the  first  Christmas 
ever  I  ate  dinner  out  from  under  my  own  roof." 

"  I — I  sort  of  had  that  in  mind,"  said  Estill. 

"  I  know  you  did !  I  know  you  did !  And  I  didn't 
mean  to  say  a  word !  Estill,  I'm  a  heart-broken  man ! 
This  day,  that  ought  to  be  a  happy  one  for  me,  is  full 
of  bitter  memories.  My  wife  is  gone — and  what  a 
woman  she  was,  Estill !  The  queen  of  'em  all,  sir.  The 
queen  of  'em  all.  God  help  me,  but  I  never  saw  her 
equal,  sir!  Never,  on  God's  green  earth!  And  she's 
dead.  And  then  my  daughter,  married  to  that  wild- 
eyed  abolitionist.  Oh,  I  know  I'd  shoot  any  one  else 
that  would  say  a  word  against  the  man  my  daughter 
married,  but —    Estill,  I'm  a  heart-broken  man !  " 

"  I  know  it's  been  hard,"  said  Estill.     "  And  I've 


A  Blue-Grass  Christmas  259 

felt  for  you  through  it  all.  He's  a  man  of  fine  educa- 
tion  " 

"  Yes,  yes !  And  I  could  have  been  proud  of  him 
if  he'd  been  different  in  other  things.  But  no  more 
judgment,  sir,  than  a  yearHng  calf !  No,  nor  so  much  ! 
It  isn't  that  I  feel  bad  because  he  don't  earn  a  living, 
though.  How  much  do  you  suppose  he's  sent  to  his 
wife  in  the  last  ten  years?  Not  a  red  cent,  sir;  not  a 
red  cent!  Love  her?  Of  course  he  loves  her!  His 
way!  But  it's  a  right  poor  way.  I  get  mad  when  I 
think  of  it!  But,  as  I  was  saying,  it  ain't  that.  I've 
got  enough.  And  while  they  don't  know  it,  I've  never 
touched  a  penny  of  the  money  my  wife  left  for  Bar- 
bara— not  a  penny  of  it!  She  supposes  it's  all  gone 
for  her  education,  but  it's  there,  every  red  cent  of  it, 
sir !  You  know,  Estill,  I  always  wanted  a  son.  But  I 
had  but  one  child,  a  daughter,  and  my  wife  was  never 
strong  after  her  birth." 

"  I  know,"  said  Estill. 

"  Of  course  you  do.  It's  an  old  story  to  you.  And 
I  won't  say  any  more,  except  all  the  hope  I've  had  has 
been  in  my  daughter;  all  the  hope  I  have  is  still  in 
her  and  in  Barbara." 

"  Yes,"  said  Estill,  "  and  you  know  how  I'm  fixed, 
too.  We're  pretty  good  running  mates,  though  I 
haven't  had  so  many  disappointments  as  you.  But 
all  my  hopes  are  in  Boyd.  And  if  I  could  see  him 
married,  and  to  your  Barbara,  I'd  give  half  I'm  worth 
to-day ! " 

"  I'd  cover  your  money !  "  said  Bernaugh. 

"  But  Boyd's  a  fellow  you  can't  drive,"  said  his 
father. 

"  Nor  the  girl !  "  said  Bernaugh.     "  Her  mother, 


26o  Pine  Knot 

for  all  she  was  so  gentle,  was  high  strung.  She's  a 
thoroughbred,  sir!  You  can't  lay  the  whip  on  her! 
And  Barbara's  like  her!  I'm  pretty  hard  on  the  bit 
at  times,  and  I  was  at  fault,  I  know.  I  got  to  talking 
politics  with  Buzbee.  Now  it's  as  much  as  two  sen- 
sible men  can  do  to  talk  politics  just  now,  and  on  the 
same  side  at  table,  but  with  a  man  with  no  horse  sense 
on  his  side,  and  a  quick-tempered  old  fool  on  mine, 
I  made  a  mess  of  it.  And  when  I  jerked  on  the  bit 
of  my  daughter,  the  rein  didn't  hold,  sir !  That's  just 
what  it  didn't  do !  And  now  they're  down  there  starv- 
ing, I  reckon.  The  Lord  only  knows  what  they'll 
have  for  Christmas  to-day  I  " 

"  If  we  can  only  have  Boyd  marry  Barbara,"  said 
Estill,  "  it'll  straighten  out  the  whole  aflFair." 

"  So  it  would.  If  Boyd  could  bring  Barbara  here, 
why,  we'd  have  her  first  here  and  then  there,  and  here 
her  mother  could  visit  her,  and  we'd  soon  have  things 
fixed  all  right  again.  And,  while  I  hate  to  argue  with 
him,  I  can't  quite  hate  that  hair-brained  son-in-law 
of  mine." 

"Sh — sh!"  warned  Mr.  Estill.  "Here  comes 
Boyd! — Well,  Boyd,  it  took  you  a  right  smart  while 
to  dress." 

"  Yes,"  added  Bernaugh,  "  a  young  buck  like  you 
needn't  spruce  up  so  to  dine  with  two  old  fellows 
like  us." 

"  I  have  to  dress  up  to  seem  as  young  as  you  two," 
said  Boyd. 

"Well,  is  dinner  ready?  I  was  plumb  uncer- 
tain whether  we  could  have  any  dinner  to-day,  but 
Bernaugh  has  sent  us  over  some  venison,"  said  Es- 
till. 


A  Blue-Grass  Christmas  261 

"  Yes,"  said  Bemaugh.  "  We  tried  one  haunch 
and  found  it  tough ;  so  I  sent  the  other  over." 

"  Come  out  and  try  it,"  said  Estill. 

"  Well,  Boyd,  and  what's  the  talk  about  politics  ?  " 
asked  Bemaugh. 

"  South  Carolina  has  seceded,"  answered  Boyd 
briefly. 

"  Impossible !  "  said  Bernaugh. 

"  True,  nevertheless,"  said  Boyd. 

"  Oh,  for  an  hour  of  Andrew  Jackson  in  the  White 
House !  "  cried  Bernaugh. 

"  Or  Henry  Clay,"  said  Estill. 

"  Anyhow,  I  think  we've  got  the  poorest  frame  of 
a  man  in  the  White  House  now  we've  ever  had! 
Think  of  his  rattling  round  in  the  shoes  of  George 
Washington !  This  last  message  of  his  was  a  disgrace 
to  the  American  people,  sir — a  disgrace  to  the  Ameri- 
can people ! "' 

"  Didn't  you  vote  for  him?  "  asked  Estill, 

"  Certainly  I  did,  and  being  a  Democrat  I  can  say 
what  I  don't  want  an  old-line  Whig  like  you  to  say. 
I  believe  in  State  rights  myself;  but  when  an  Ameri- 
can President  says  in  his  message  that  the  Southern 
States  would  *  be  justified  in  revolutionary  resistance 
to  the  Government  of  the  United  States,'  he  ought  to 
be  impeached !  " 

"  I  don't  agree  with  you,"  said  Boyd.  "  If  we 
believe  in  State  rights,  let  us  live  up  to  our  prin- 
ciples." 

"  A  right  is  one  thing,"  said  Bernaugh,  "  and  good 
sense  and  justice  is  another.  We've  got  a  right  to 
secede — I  believe  that,  under  the  Constitution ;  but 
we're  fools  if  we  do  it.     Are  we  border  States  going 


262  Pine  Knot 

to  play  monkey  for  the  nigger-buying  cotton  States, 
and  bum  our  fingers  raking  off  their  chestnuts  ?  " 

Boyd  flushed.  Then,  biting  his  lip,  he  added :  "  I 
reckon,  Mr.  Bernaugh,  you  and  I'd  best  come  to  terms 
like  father  and  me.  We  don't  agree  on  this  matter, 
and,  except  for  telling  the  news,  and  talking  a  little 
about  what's  going  to  come  of  it,  we  don't  discuss  it 
much." 

"  That's  best,"  said  Bernaugh.  "  If  we'd  stuck 
to  that  in  our  house  it  would  have  been  better.  You're 
a  member  of  the  State  Guard,  are  you  not,  Boyd  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  And  we  have  begun  to  drill  in  antici- 
pation of  war." 

"  And  on  which  side  will  you  fight  ?  '* 

"  On  the  side  of  the  South." 

"  Against  your  country  ?  " 

"  My  country  is  first  of  all  my  State;  after  that 
my  allegiance  belongs  to  the  Southern  Confederacy, 
whose  germ  we  have  in  the  secession  of  South  Caro- 
lina." 

"  Ah,  well !  Let  us  stop  talking  about  it.  But  this 
is  a  sad  Christmas  in  many  a  home  in  Kentucky." 


CHAPTER   XXVI 

THE   NEW   TEACHER 

Dan  Brafford's  tall  horse  brought  the  news  of 
both  at  once,  bearing  them  through  the  swollen 
streams  of  the  last  of  April,  and  along  the  muddy  and 
deeply  gullied  roads,  the  news  of  the  great  fortune  of 
the  Freedom  Mining  Company,  and  of  the  actual  be- 
ginning of  hostilities  in  the  attack  upon  a  Massa- 
chusetts regiment  in  the  streets  of  Baltimore,  The 
latter  news  he  carried  by  word  of  mouth ;  the  former 
he  bore  locked  up  in  his  mail  bag  in  a  letter  addressed 
to  Mrs.  Buzbee.  Mr.  Buzbee  had  actually  sold  five 
shares  of  stock,  and  had  received  the  full  payment  in 
cash,  five  hundred  dollars ! 

The  month  had  gone  wearily  enough.  Mrs.  Buz- 
bee had  pined  and  drooped.  She  and  Barbara  had 
had  scant  food  a  part  of  the  time,  and  they  never  were 
overfed.  Something  they  suffered,  too,  from  the  sus- 
picion which  the  community  had  come  to  cherish 
against  Mr.  Buzbee,  and  which  seemed  to  make  the 
whole  family  semi-impostors.  They  suffered  no  per- 
secution, and  were  never  in  danger,  but  the  sense  of 
their  isolation  grew  upon  them,  and  gradually  Mrs. 
Buzbee  failed  under  the  stem  conditions  that  sur- 
rounded them. 

1 8  263 


264  Pine  Knot 

Mr.  Buzbee's  pathetic  letters  added  to  their  burden. 
It  was  pitiful  to  read  of  his  repeated  rebuflfs  and  fail- 
ures, and  to  imagine  the  hardships  which  they  knew 
must  be,  but  which  he  did  not  write.  At  last,  when 
the  tide  turned,  and  he  began  to  receive  money,  they 
waited  in  vain  for  the  money  they  needed  for  them- 
selves, but  which  did  not  come.  He  was  so  intent 
upon  his  great  scheme,  that  he  did  not  think  of  their 
need.  Charity  may  begin  at  home,  but  philanthropy 
is  usually  far-sighted  and  overlooks  the  need  at  hand. 
For  that  matter,  all  our  man-and-brother  theories  work 
better  at  a  safe  distance. 

But  Granny  White  was  a  true  friend.  Supersti- 
tious, ignorant,  and  narrow,  she  was  yet  discerning, 
kind,  and  true,  and  again  and  again  she  made  the  two 
lonely  women  feel  the  comfort  of  her  friendship.  The 
Renfros  too,  were  faithful,  and  Simon  Peter  or  Dinah 
came  often  with  a  sack  of  meal  or  a  dressed  chicken. 
Now  and  then  Liberty  Preston  rode  over  from  No 
Bus'ness,  and  often  she  brought  a  jar  of  preserves  or 
a  peck  of  Hour. 

With  the  coming  of  the  spring  their  burden  light- 
ened ;  for,  though  Mr.  Buzbee's  success  brought  them 
no  money,  it  brought  them  hope,  and  gave  relief  from 
the  suspicions  of  the  people,  who,  hearing  the  glowing 
accounts  of  the  success  of  Mr.  Buzbee,  began  now  to 
laud  his  learning  and  to  speak  of  him  in  terms  of  un- 
stinted praise.  A  few  there  were,  however,  who  still 
uttered  their  predictions  of  evil. 

It  is  told  us  often  that  misfortunes  never  come 
singly;  let  us  gratefully  remember  that  as  much  may 
be  said  of  our  blessings.  With  the  spring  came  Lib- 
erty Preston  to  the  home  of  the  Buzbees. 


The  New  Teacher  265 

"  I've  made  up  my  mind,  and  I  don't  want  you  to 
tell  me  no,"  she  said  to  Barbara.  "  I'll  pay  a  dollar 
and  a  half  a  week  for  board — that's  what  I  paid  at  the 
Lakes's — and  a  dollar  a  month  tuition,  and  I'll  help 
with  the  work,  and  part  of  the  time  I'll  go  home  Sun- 
days. But  you've  got  to  learn  me  part  of  what  you 
know.  I'm  plumb  ashamed  of  myself  when  I  think 
what  a  dunce  I  am,  and  I  want  to  learn." 

It  proved  an  admirable  arrangement.  It  made  the 
home  a  place  of  life  as  the  girls  ran  in  and  out;  it 
brought  out  the  books  and  gave  life  a  new  object;  it 
gave  a  basis  of  reality  to  Barbara's  cheery  laugh,  which 
had  sometimes  seemed  a  bit  forced;  and  it  provided 
means  of  support.  Jim  Ballard  sent  over  to  inquire  if 
his  daughter  might  attend;  Tom  Lawson  squeezed  a 
dollar  a  month  from  the  joint  profits  of  blacksmithing 
and  witch-doctoring,  and  sent  his  daughter.  A  few 
others  came  irregularly,  some  for  a  single  month.  An 
income  of  perhaps  twelve  dollars  a  month  was  thus 
provided  by  the  little  private  school  and  its  one  board- 
ing pupil. 

Mrs.  Buzbee  now  and  then  exhibited  a  little  more 
of  cheerfulness,  and  sometimes  was  seen  to  smile.  But 
it  was  a  wan,  weary  smile. 

Fletcher  came  irregularly.  A  long  visit  to  his 
mother  at  Roundstone  during  the  winter  found  him 
engagement  in  a  "  work  " — that  is  to  say  a  protracted 
meeting,  which  resulted  in  the  establishment  of  a  cir- 
cuit which  he  began  supplying  until  conference  should 
permanently  assign  the  field.  He  came  three  or  four 
times  to  Pine  Knot,  and  while  he  called  each  time, 
and  manifested  the  utmost  kindness,  he  showed  noth- 
ing more.     He  treated  Barbara  precisely  as  he  did 


266  Pine  Knot 

Liberty,  and  seemed  so  absorbed  in  his  work  that  Bar- 
bara suspected  that  he  had  forgotten  all  about  his  pas-- 
sion  for  her. 

This  irritated  Barbara.  To  be  sure,  she  had  re- 
fused him,  and  finally.  And  yet —  Why  must  a  man 
take  a  woman's  answer  so  seriously?  Of  course,  she 
meant  it  seriously,  but  still  a  man  of  more  discern- 
ment, or  more  delicate  and  sympathetic  nature,  would 
have  discerned  something — at  least  of  the  motive  of 
her  refusal.  To  be  making  a  martyr  of  one's  self  is 
well  enough,  but  martyrdom  flourishes  best  when  it 
has  appropriate  recognition ;  and  Barbara  now  and 
then  felt  that  he  ought,  in  simple  decency,  to  look 
into  the  matter  far  enough  to  know  how  unselfishly, 
how  self-sacrificingly,  she  had  refused  him. 

It  was  after  his  visit  in  June  that  she  felt  this  most, 
and  something  of  it  she  must  have  shown  to  Liberty. 
Fletcher  had  come  to  tell  them  that  he  had  secured  the 
school  for  the  coming  term,  and  that  he  would  "  take 
up  school "  early  in  August.  Barbara's  pleasure  in 
the  announcement  was  short-lived ;  for  his  joy  in  the 
attainment  of  tne  hope  so  long  deferred  was  so  clearly 
in  the  end  he  hoped  to  attain  through  it,  and  took  so 
little  account  of  any  other  consideration,  that  her 
heart  went  down.  The  opening  of  the  public  school 
would  rob  them,  too,  of  their  means  of  support.  Why 
need  he  begin  so  early?  To  be  sure,  there  had  been 
complaint  that  the  school  last  year  was  protracted  too 
far  into  cold  weather,  but  still  he  need  not  have  hur- 
ried it  quite  so  much.  Anyway,  what  were  they  to 
do  now?  But  for  the  presence  of  her  mother  and 
Liberty,  she  would  have  had  a  good  cry. 

She  did  have  it.     Going  to  the  spring  after  water 


The  New  Teacher  267 

she  sat  beside  the  branch,  filling  the  gourd  and  empty- 
ing it  out  again,  and  thinking  and  thinking  till  she 
was  all  in  tears. 

Poor  girl,  she  needed  the  relief!  And  if  in  this 
one  matter  she  showed  weakness,  in  all  else  she  had 
been  strong.  Patient,  uncomplaining,  she  had  borne 
her  mother's  growing  weakness  with  unfailing  cour- 
age, supplying  from  her  own  overflow  of  hope  and 
good  cheer  the  lack  of  fortitude  in  her  mother's  life. 
Through  the  long,  terrible  winter  never  once  had  she 
shown  impatience  or  despondency ;  and  in  the  months 
that  followed,  working  to  keep  the  wolf  from  the  door, 
with  hardly  a  brave  or  cheerful  word  from  her  mother 
to  lighten  the  burden,  she  had  endured  in  the  spirit 
that  bears  and  hopes  and  believes  and  that  never  fails. 
She  had  earned  the  right  to  a  good  cry,  for  she  had 
proved  herself  nothing  less  than  a  heroine ;  and  even 
in  an  affair  of  the  heart  if  she  showed  weakness  it 
was  in  good  part  the  result  of  the  other  burdens  which 
she  was  supporting  bravely. 

There  Liberty  found  her  at  the  spring,  and  put  her 
arms  around  her  and  kissed  her. 

"  Barbara,"  she  said,  "  I  know  what's  the  matter. 
You  can  have  him.     I  ain't  a-caring." 

"  Oh,  no,  no.  Liberty !  "  said  Barbara.  "  I  prom- 
ised you,  and  I  will  keep  my  word !  " 

"  You  have  kept  it,"  said  Liberty.  "  And  I've  had 
my  chance.  He  don't  care  for  me,  and  I'm  not  going 
to  break  my  heart  about  him.  You  can  have  him. 
There's  as  good  fish  in  the  sea  as  has  ever  been 
ketched."  She  spoke  a  little  resentfully,  and  then, 
standing  erect,  she  lifted  Barbara  to  her  feet  and  kissed 
her  again. 


268  Pine  Knot 

"  You  dear  girl !  "  said  Barbara. 
But  Liberty  caught  her  arm  and  began  dancing 
her  around,  singing — 

"  I'll  get  another  one,  skip-t'-m'-loo  ! 
I'll  get  another  one,  skip-t'-m'-loo  ! 
I'll  get  another  one,  prettier,  too, 
Skip-t'-m'-loo,  my  darling  !" 

"  All  right,  Liberty,"  laughed  Barbara  through  her 
tears.  "  But  you  couldn't  sing  it  if  you  felt  toward 
him  as  I  do." 

"  I  couldn't  ?  "  asked  Liberty,  looking  at  Barbara 
hard.  "  Well,  maybe  not.  But  the  sooner  you  get  to 
singing  it  with  me,  the  better  it'll  be  for  you.  There's 
nothing  comforts  a  woman  so  much  as  to  look  in  the 
glass  and  to  reckon  she's  got  another  chance.  The 
question  how  much  you  cared  for  the  last  one  won't 
grease  the  griddle  now." 

"  O  Liberty !    You're  only  joking !  " 

"  Well,  what  if  I  am  ?  Ain't  that  the  best  way  to 
do  ?    Come,  cheer  up ! 

"  I'll  get  another  one,  skip-t'-m'-loo  ! 
I'll  get " 

"  I'm  tempted  to  box  your  ears ! "  laughed  Bar- 
bara. 

"You  dassn't!"  replied  Liberty  saucily.  "School's 
let  out !  " 

Just  before  his  school  was  to  have  begun,  Fletcher 
came  over  again. 

"  I've  come  to  ask  you  to  teach  the  school  for  me," 
said  he  to  Barbara.  "  I've  got  to  give  it  up.  I've  seen 
the  trustees,  and  they  consent." 


The  New  Teacher  269 

"  Why,  Mr.  Fletcher !  You  don't  mean  it  ?  No, 
no !    You  must  not !  " 

"  I'm  going  to  enlist,"  said  he. 

"  But  I  thought  the  Governor  had  refused  to  send 
troops  from  Kentucky  ?  " 

"  So  he  has.  But  troops  will  be  enhsted  at  once. 
I  am  going  to  the  new  camp  on  the  Kentucky  River. 
I  can  not  stay  at  home  when  my  country  needs  me." 

"  But  think  of  the  sacrifice  you  are  making,"  she 
said. 

"  I  will  sacrifice  more,  if  necessary,"  said  he  quietly. 

"  Come  in  and  see  mother,"  said  Barbara.  "  She 
will  miss  you." 

"Howdy,  Mrs.  Buzbee?"  said  Fletcher. 

"  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Fletcher,"  said  she. 
— "  Barbara,  set  a  chair." 

"  I'm  going  to  leave  you  soon,"  he  said.  "  I'm 
going  into  the  army.  I  start  for  Camp  Nelson  to- 
morrow." 

"And  must  you  leave  us,  Mr.  Fletcher?"  asked 
Mrs.  Buzbee.  "  Oh,  this  dreadful  war !  Half  my  friends 
are  on  one  side  and  half  on  the  other.  And  my  poor, 
dear  father  will  be  heart-broken !  And  poor  Mr.  Buz- 
bee is  away  on  this  dreadful  mining  business,  that 
seems  so  long  in  coming  to  anything!  Our  friends 
seem  very  few,  and  scattered  far.  We  shall  miss  you, 
Mr.  Fletcher." 

"  Here  comes  Liberty,"  said  Barbara. — "  O  Liberty, 
Mr.  Fletcher  has  given  up  the  school  to  go  to  the  war ! 
Isn't  that  too  bad  ?  " 

"Just  what  I  expected  of  him,"  said  Liberty. 
— "Howdy,  Mr.  Fletcher?  I  wish  now  I'd  Hstened 
better  to  your  sermons." 


270  Pine  Knot 

"  I  don't  believe  you  remember  a  word  of  them," 
said  Fletcher. 

"  I  reckon  not.    Who's  going  to  keep  the  school  ?  " 

"  Miss  Barbara." 

"  That's  right.    She's  a  right  good  teacher," 

"  And  you  are  to  be  my  assistant,  Liberty,"  said 
Barbara. 

"I'm  willing,"  said  Liberty.— "  Well,  Mr.  Jim 
Fletcher,  we  hate  to  see  you  go,  but  they  need  you." 

"  So  they  do,"  said  Fletcher.    "  Good-by." 

And  so  he  went.  Barbara  tried  to  be  brave  that 
afternoon  and  succeeded  in  keeping  a  cheerful  face  till 
they  had  gone  to  bed  and  Liberty  was  still.  Then 
she  had  a  quiet  little  cry.  But  she  stopped  when  she 
heard  Liberty  gently  sobbing  beside  her.  Or,  stay! 
Was  Liberty  really  sobbing?  For  the  moment  Bar- 
bara detected  the  sound  and  the  quiver  of  the  bed, 
and  by  her  start  proclaimed  that  she  was  awake,  the 
sobs,  if  they  were  sobs,  modulated  into  a  melody,  and 
she  heard  Liberty  humming,  under  the  quilts : 

"  I'll  get  another  one,  skip-t'-m'-loo  ! 
Skip-t'-m'-loo,  my  darling  !  " 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

THE   FREEDOM   MINING   COMPANY 

It  was  a  weary  man  who  made  his  way  from  city 
to  city  in  the  North  for  nine  long  months  in  1861, 
trying  to  sell  the  stock  of  the  Freedom  Mining  Com- 
pany. His  threadbare  clothes  grew  thinner,  and  his 
form  more  bent,  and  his  cough  harder  and  more  fre- 
quent. There  were  few  who  had  time  to  hear  him, 
and  few  of  those  who  heard  him  heeded.  How  he 
lived  through  the  first  half  of  his  journey  he  could 
hardly  tell.  A  few  times  he  spoke,  and  took  a  collec- 
tion which  paid  his  railroad  fare  a  little  farther  on,  and 
he  seldom  had  to  pay  for  lodging.  But  the  stock 
which  he  had  hoped  to  sell  he  did  not  sell. 

One  raw  April  day,  when  the  streets  of  Boston 
rang  with  the  word  that  a  Massachusetts  regiment 
had  been  fired  upon  in  Baltimore,  and  the  people  were 
thronging  the  streets  and  buying  the  extra  papers  that 
were  issued,  he  turned  aside,  weary  and  heartsick,  and 
sat  him  down  in  the  office  of  a  busy  man. 

"  I  came  to  see  Mr.  Stearns,"  said  he,  "  but  I  know 
that  he  will  not  want  to  talk  with  me  to-day.  If  he 
will  appoint  a  time,  I  will  come  again." 

"  Of  what  do  you  wish  to  talk  ?  "  asked  the  kind- 
faced,  full-bearded  man  whom  he  addressed. 

271 


2  72  Pine  Knot 

"  About  the  sale  of  stock  in  a  silver  mine,  and  the 
freedom  of  the  slave,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee. 

"  I  have  no  time  to  talk  of  the  former,  but  am  never 
too  busy  to  talk  of  the  latter,"  said  Mr.  Stearns. 

"  The  two  are  one  subject  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Buz- 
bee, and  then  he  told  of  his  scheme. 

"  Have  you  sold  much  stock  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Stearns. 

"  Not  a  share,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee  sadly. 

"  Has  your  silver  been  tested  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  took  pains  at  once  to  have  my  sample 
analyzed,  and  it  is  pure.  I  have  the  analysis  of  the 
rock,  showing  its  richness." 

Then  he  told  him  the  story  of  those  weary  months, 
how  of  those  to  whom  he  had  talked  few  had  any  in- 
terest, and  of  those  who  had  interest  few  had  money, 
and  of  those  who  had  money  few  had  confidence  in 
the  scheme.  He  told  how  one  man  had  complained 
of  the  war  tax,  and  another  of  the  uncertainty  of  trade, 
and  another  of  the  shutting  up  of  his  cotton  mills, 
and  another  of  the  closing  of  his  branch  house  in 
Atlanta;  and  so  of  the  ready  excuses,  and  good  ones 
for  the  most  pr.rt,  of  those  who  should  have  been,  as 
he  thought,  the  friends  of  his  project. 

The  keen  business  man  looked  over  the  papers 
submitted  to  him,  and  kept  back  the  doubts  that  pre- 
sented themselves  to  his  mind. 

"  I  am  not  in  possession  of  sufficient  knowledge 
of  mining,"  said  he,  "  to  be  sure  how  good  promise 
there  is  that  this  scheme  will  pay.  But  on  this  day 
when  Massachusetts  men  are  giving  their  lives  for 
freedom,  I  can  not  withhold  money." 

Then  he  called  for  his  check  book  and  said,  "  I 
will  head  your  list,  and  take  five  shares." 


The  Freedom  Mining  Company      273 

"  You  need  not  pay  it  all  now,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee. 
"  The  assessments  are  payable  quarterly." 

"  I  will  pay  mine  in  cash,"  said  Mr.  Steams,  and 
drew  his  check, 

"  Five  hundred  dollars !  "  cried  Mr.  Buzbee.  "  It 
is  years  since  I  have  seen  so  much !  " 

"  I  hope  you  may  see  much  more  from  your  mine," 
said  Mr.  Stearns.  "  And  now  let  us  not  talk  more  of 
mining.  Come  out  with  me  for  the  night.  You  shall 
have  a  comfortable  bed  at  my  home,  and  meet  my 
good  wife,  who  is  as  much  interested  in  these  mat- 
ters as  I." 

It  was  an  oasis  in  a  desert  experience.  Mr,  Buz- 
bee sat  that  night  in  a  home  of  wealth,  unostentatious 
but  elegant,  hospitable  yet  not  condescending,  cheered 
by  the  sympathy  of  two  warm,  true  hearts.  It  was 
of  this  merchant,  now  long  dead,  that  Whittier  wrote : 

*'  Ah,  well,  the  world  is  discreet, 

There  are  plenty  to  pause  and  wait. 
But  here  was  a  man  who  set  his  feet 
Sometimes  in  advance  of  fate  ; 

"  Plucked  off  the  old  bark  when  the  inner 
Was  slow  to  renew  it. 
And  put  to  the  Lord's  work  the  sinner. 
When  saints  failed  to  do  it." 

From  this  home  Mr,  Buzbee  sent  the  letter  telling 
of  his  great  good  fortune — the  letter  that  brought  such 
comfort,  though  no  money,  to  his  needy  household. 

From  this  time  Mr.  Buzbee's  fortunes  revived. 
Many  a  business  man  looked  at  the  name  at  the  head 
of  the  list  and  bought  a  share  or  two,  and  the  five 
hundred  dollars  soon  were  as  many  thousands.    Then 


2  74  Pine  Knot 

— blaming  himself  for  his  selfishness  the  while — Mr. 
Buzbee  made  some  slight  additions  to  his  wardrobe, 
and  bought  meals  which,  while  frugal,  were  not  the 
starvation  affairs  which  he  had  long  been  living  upon. 

"  Victory  is  ours,"  he  wrote  home.  "  I  am  sending 
another  thousand  dollars  to  Mr.  Goodwin.  We  have 
now  almost  enough  to  complete  our  furnace,  and  it  will 
be  adapted  to  the  smelting  of  large  quantities  of  ore. 
Gold  and  silver  are  becoming  scarce,  and  are  at  a 
premium.  A  dollar  in  silver  will  soon  be  worth  two 
in  paper.  We  shall  thus  make  our  money  go  further. 
We  have  toiled  long  and  have  taken  nothing :  we  are 
about  to  let  down  our  net  on  the  right  side  of  the  ship, 
and  bring  it  up  laden.  And  oh,  how  eager  I  am  to 
get  to  work,  and  to  convince  the  world  of  our  suc- 
cess before  there  is  more  of  bloodshed !  I  hope  to 
return  soon.  But  I  must  not  tarry  at  Pine  Knot.  I 
am  writing  Mr.  Renfro  to  have  a  cabin  built  for  us 
at  the  falls.  Move  there  as  soon  as  possible  and  I 
will  meet  you  there.  I  go  to  Washington  soon  to  call 
upon  President  Lincoln.  I  send  you  ten  dollars.  It  is 
the  gift  of  a  good  woman,  the  Mrs.  Stearns  of  whom 
I  have  already  written.  She  forbade  my  sending  it 
to  the  mine,  and  insisted  that  I  spend  it  for  myself  or 
send  it  to  you.  I  have  need  of  nothing,  now  I  see  suc- 
cess. God  bless  you  both !  I  am  coming  to  you  soon." 

At  length  the  day  came  when  he  stood  on  the  steps 
of  the  White  House  and  asked  to  see  the  President. 
The  guard  at  the  door  asked  him  his  business,  and, 
learning  that  he  had  stock  to  sell,  refused  him  admis- 
sion. He  was  turning  sadly  away,  when  a  man  within 
stepped  by  the  guard,  and  asked,  "  What  is  it  he 
wants  ?  " 


The  Freedom  Mining  Company      275 

He  was  very  tall  and  dark,  with  straight  coarse 
hair,  and  eyes  that  looked  sadly  out  of  their  cavernous 
recesses.  He  wore  a  somewhat  shabby  black  coat  and 
carpet  slippers  run  down  at  the  heel. 

"  Mr.  President,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee,  "  I  desire  to  talk 
about  the  freedom  of  the  slave." 

"  What  office  do  you  want?  "  asked  Lincoln. 

"  None,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee. 

"  Do  your  friends  want  any  ?  " 

"  If  they  do,  they  are  their  own  representatives.  I 
have  no  request  to  present  for  them." 

"  Come  in,"  said  the  President.  "  You  are  the 
first  man  I  have  seen  to-day  who  did  not  want  an 
office." 

Then  Mr.  Buzbee  entered  and  talked  with  Presi- 
dent Lincoln.  "  I  have  no  money  to  buy  stock,"  said 
the  President,  "  and,  if  I  had,  I  could  not  lend  my  name 
to  a  financial  concern  of  which  I  have  no  personal 
knowledge.  But  I  enter  with  sympathy  into  the  spirit 
of  any  effort  to  remove  the  burden  of  slavery  peace- 
ably. I  am  in  entire  sympathy  with  the  plan  of  com- 
pensated emancipation.  I  am  about  to  recommend 
such  a  plan  to  Congress,  and  I  am  confident  that  the 
coming  session  of  Congress  will  prohibit  slavery  in 
all  the  Territories  now  existing  and  all  that  may  here- 
after be  erected.  Do  you  think  the  border  States  will 
stand  this  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  they  will !  I  am  sure  they  will !  "  said 
Mr.  Buzbee. 

Mr.  Buzbee  went  out  from  the  White  House 
cheered  by  the  sympathy  of  the  President,  and  assured 
that  it  was  in  his  heart  to  labor,  "  with  malice  toward 
none  and  charity  for  all,"  for  the  united  nation,  which 


276  Pine  Knot 

in  the  end  must  be  a  free  nation.  So  he  turned  his 
face  toward  the  mountains. 

He  did  not  get  home,  however.  Letters  from 
Goodwin  assured  him  that  the  furnace  was  in  process 
of  erection,  but  that  it  must  be  larger  than  had  been 
planned,  and  hence  there  must  be  more  money.  So 
he  set  forth  again  to  sell  more  stock.  It  was  not  so 
easy  to  sell  it  now.  Bull  Run  had  disheartened  the 
nation.  The  first  enlistments  were  expiring,  and  many 
men  were  returning  to  their  homes  sadder  and  wiser 
than  when  they  set  out  to  put  down  the  rebellion  in 
ninety  days.  The  country  was  awaking  to  the  fact 
that  a  long  and  terrible  struggle  was  ahead,  and  it 
had  lost  faith  in  a  gradual  emancipation,  or  in  any 
financial  solution  of  the  problem. 

Still,  the  weary  man,  who  was  sick  as  well  as  weary, 
trudged  the  streets  of  city  after  city,  struggling  in 
his  own  unselfish  soul  over  the  problem  which  was 
taxing  the  nation's  thought  and  sinew,  and  strug- 
gling with  it  alone. 

Still,  now  and  then  he  sold  more  stock,  and  sent 
the  money  home.  He  began  again  to  starve  himself, 
that  he  might  send  the  more.  His  eagerness  to  return 
and  see  some  actual  output  grew  every  day,  but  letters 
from  Goodwin  restrained  him,  each  with  its  call  for 
more  money. 

So  the  summer  passed  and  the  autumn  came,  and 
with  its  raw  winds  his  strength  diminished.  Sick  at 
last  beyond  all  denial,  yet  keeping  himself  alive  upon 
the  hope  of  his  return,  he  set  his  face  homeward,  and 
when  he  saw  the  mountains  again  October  had  turned 
the  gum  trees  to  a  blaze  of  glory,  and  the  hickory  nuts 
were  dropping  through  the  curled  and  yellow  leaves. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

A   MEMBER   OF   THE   STATE   GUARD 

History  was  striding  on  rapidly  during  these  few 
months.  Early  in  the  new  year  Mississippi,  Alabama, 
Florida,  Georgia,  Louisiana,  and  Texas  followed 
South  Carolina  in  passing  ordinances  of  secession. 

In  the  border  States,  however,  the  case  stood  dif- 
ferently. North  Carolina,  Arkansas,  Missouri,  and 
Tennessee  all  voted  secession  squarely  down,  and  Ken- 
tucky refused  even  to  consider  the  matter.  Virginia 
and  Maryland  hesitated. 

Fort  Sumter  was  fired  upon.  The  call  for  troops 
went  forth,  and  the  nation's  blood  gave  a  great  leap. 
Men  who  had  hesitated  did  so  no  longer.  Men 
who  had  believed  in  peace  saw  now  the  certainty  of 
war. 

Boyd  Estill  was  a  member  of  the  State  Guard  of 
Kentucky,  an  organization  distinctly  Southern  in  its 
sympathies,  and  subject  to  the  control  of  the  Governor, 
who  also  sympathized  with  the  rebellion.  That  the 
State  Guard  would  see  immediate  service  was  confi- 
dently expected,  but  it  saw  none.  Its  members  were 
spoiling  for  fight,  and  the  provocation  was  not  far 
distant,  but  fight  they  could  not,  and  the  position  was 
most  trying. 

277 


278  Pine  Knot 

The  spring  wore  away.  Summer  ripened  into 
autumn.  The  August  elections  were  over,  and  the  rest 
of  the  South  was  hot  for  action.  Tennessee,  voting 
strongly  against  secession  at  the  first,  had  been 
carried  out  of  the  Union  by  the  indomitable  will 
of  its  Governor,  Isham  G.  Harris,  and  finding  itself 
out,  by  a  reluctant  vote,  strongly  opposed  by  the 
mountain  district,  had  consented  to  the  separation. 
Virginia,  too,  had  joined  the  Confederacy.  And 
yet  Kentuckians  of  Southern  views  had  no  op- 
portunity to  act.  The  special  congressional  elec- 
tion in  June  showed  lifty-four  thousand  majority 
for  the  Union.  This  left  Kentucky  Confederates  little 
hope. 

One  afternoon  in  August  Boyd  Estill  turned  from 
the  limestone  pike  that  led  from  Lexington  to  his 
home,  and  riding  up  the  avenue  lined  with  tall  old 
trees,  fiung  his  rein  to  Nic,  and  strode  into  the  house. 

"  What  news,  Boyd  ?  "  asked  his  father. 

"  Nothing,  except  that  I'm  sick  of  this  inaction. 
I'm  going  South  to  enlist ! " 

His  father  heard  him  sadly,  but,  checking  his  emo- 
tion, said :  "  I  had  come  to  expect  it.  I  am  sorry,  very 
sorry.  Alas !  my  son,  I  had  not  thought  to  live  to  see 
you  fighting  against  our  country.  But  if  you  go,  you 
go  with  my  blessings  upon  you,  if  not  upon  your 
cause." 

"  Thank  you,  father.  You  have  been  more  than 
kind.  I  would  give  anything  to  see  things  as  you  do, 
but  I  can't." 

"  Let  us  keep  our  truce,"  said  his  father.  "  We 
have  had  one  quarrel  and  it  is  over.  Let  us  not  dis- 
cuss it  again.     The  home  is  yours,  Boyd.     You  go 


A  Member  of  the  State  Guard       279 

forth  to  do  what  I  am  loath  to  see  you  do,  but  you 
are  my  son  still.    Where  will  you  go  ?  " 

**  To  join  Zollicoffer.    He  is  at  Knoxville  now." 

"  Tell  me  a  little  more  about  it.  What  is  moving 
you  to  this  at  present?  The  Governor  sympathizes 
with  you,  and  so  do  the  State  Guard." 

"  Yes,  but  to  be  a  member  of  a  military  organiza- 
tion and  to  be  idle  now  is  intolerable.  There  is  noth- 
ing to  fight." 

"  But  it  is  only  a  few  months  since  you  were  glory- 
ing in  Governor  Magoffin's  position  of  an  armed 
neutrality." 

Boyd  laughed.  "  Lincoln  has  taken  us  too  much 
at  our  word." 

"  You  mean  that  you  did  not  expect  him  to  re- 
spect it  ?  " 

"  Well,  at  first  we  did,  but  just  now  it  is  not  neu- 
trality we  want,  but  action." 

"  For  my  part,  my  son,  I  thank  God  for  every  day 
of  peace.  When  I  read  the  accounts  of  fighting  begun 
in  Virginia  and  Maryland,  I  shudder,  and  am  thankful 
that  as  yet  Kentucky  has  escaped." 

"  I  wish  we  could  go  with  the  other  Southern 
States,"  said  Boyd.  "  Have  you  seen  this  poem  from 
the  Memphis  Appeal  ?  It  appears  to  have  been  written 
to  be  sung  to  Yankee  Doodle.  It  reminds  us  how 
Kentuckians  are  scattered  throughout  the  States  that 
have  seceded,  and  asks  us  to  come  with  them,  I  will 
read  two  or  three  stanzas : 

"  '  Kentucky  boys  and  girls  have  we — 
From  us  ye  may  not  take  them  ; 
Sad-hearted  will  ye  give  them  up 
And  for  the  foe  forsake  them  ? 
19 


28o  Pine  Knot 

"  'O  Tennessee,  twin  sister,  grieves 
To  take  thy  hand  at  parting, 
And  feel  that  from  its  farewell  grasp 
A  brother's  blood  is  starting. 

"  '  It  must  not  be  ! — Kentucky,  come  ! 
Virginia  loudly  calls  thee  ; 
And  Maryland  defenseless  stands. 
To  share  what  fate  befalls  thee. 

"  '  Come,  ere  the  tyrant's  chain  is  forged, 
From  out  the  war  cloud  looming ; 
Come,  ere  thy  palsied  knee  is  bent 
To  hopeless  ruin  dooming  ! '  " 

"  I  have  not  seen  it."  said  the  father.  "  But  I  have 
dipped  a  poem  from  the  Cincinnati  Commercial  here 
which  I  greatly  admire.  You  know  that  in  1850  Ken- 
tucky sent  to  the  Washington  Monument  a  stone  on 
which  was  inscribed : 

"  '  Kentucky. — She  was  the  first  State  to  enter  the 
Union  after  the  adoption  of  the  Constitution,  and  will 
be  the  last  to  leave.'  This  poem  refers  to  that  in- 
scription : 

"  '  "  The  first  to  join  the  patriot  band. 

The  last  bright  star  to  fade  and  die," 
Oh,  first-born  daughter  of  the  land. 

Wilt  thou  thy  sacred  vow  deny  ? 
By  all  the  lofty  memories  bright 

That  crown  with  light  thy  glorious  past, 
Oh,  speak  again  those  words  of  might — 

"  The  first  to  come,  to  leave  the  last !  " 

"  '  The  land  for  which  our  fathers  fought, 
The  glorious  heritage  they  gave. 
The  just  and  equal  laws  they  wrought — 
Rise  in  your  might  that  land  to  save  ! 


A  Member  of  the  State  Guard       281 

No  parricidal  daughter  thou, 

No  stain  be  on  thy  fealty  cast, 
But  faithful  to  thy  boast  and  vow, 

"  Be  first  to  come,  to  leave  the  last !  " 

"  '  Oh,  list  not  to  the  siren  voice 

That  wooes  thee  to  a  traitor  cause  ; 
But  answer,  "  I  have  made  my  choice, 

I  will  support  my  country's  laws." 
Go,  spurn  disunion's  foul  cabal. 

All  party  ties  behind  thee  cast ; 
And  still  at  honor's,  duty's  call, 

*'  Be  first  to  come,  to  leave  the  last !  " 

"  '  Land  of  my  birth  !  how  dear  to  me 

Has  ever  been  thy  spotless  fame  ; 
Oh,  may  I  never,  never  see 

The  brand  of  traitor  on  thy  name  ! 
Go,  gird  thee  in  thy  armor  bright ; 

Be  faithful  to  thy  glorious  past ; 
And  in  the  battle  for  the  right, 

"  Be  first  to  come,  to  leave  the  last '  "  '" 

"  It  is  beautiful !  "  said  Boyd.  "  But,  O  father, 
I  must  go  with  the  South !  " 

"  Be  it  so,  my  son.  But  my  heart  still  is  with  you, 
and  with  my  country.  I  had  hoped  that  you  would 
have  married  ere  this,  and  that  I  should  have  turned 
affairs  over  to  you.  I  am  an  old  man.  I  would  have 
liked  that  pretty  Buzbee  girl  for  a  daughter,  and  to 
have  seen  you  here  in  the  old  home,  with  grandchil- 
dren to  play  about  my  knees.  But  war  puts  such 
things  far  out  of  the  way.  You  hear  from  her,  I  sup- 
pose ?  " 

"  No  sir,  I  do  not.  I  quarreled  with  her  when  I 
did  with  you." 

"  And  have  not  made  up  with  her  as  you  have  with 
me?    She  is  well  worth  it,  Boyd." 


282  Pine  Knot 

"  I  quite  agree  with  you,  sir.  And,  while  I  have 
tried  to  turn  my  thoughts  away  from  her,  I  find  myself 
caring  more  for  her  even  than  I  thought.  If  she  hadn't 
such  an  old  fool  of  a  father " 

"  A  most  unpractical  man — a  fanatic.  I  never 
agreed  with  him.  But  he  is  a  good  man,  and  sincere, 
though  fanatical  to  a  degree.  Still,  love  does  not  stop 
at  such  barriers." 

"  No,  sir,  and  to  tell  the  truth  I  plan  to  see  her  as 
I  go  to  Knoxville.  She  is  at  Pine  Knot,  I  learn,  and 
I  hope  to  find  her  still  caring  for  me  as  I  do  for  her." 

"  Woo  her,  Boyd.  Ay,  and  marry  her  if  you  will, 
and  send  her  here  to  comfort  me  while  you  go  off  on 
your  wild-goose  chase.  Well,  you  and  I  may  as  well 
talk  matters  over  frankly.  We  understand  each  other. 
What  came  of  this  last  exploit  of  the  State  Guard  ?  " 

"  Nothing.  I  feel  as  if  we  had  made  fools  of  our- 
selves. Lincoln  is  laughing  at  us  in  his  sleeve,  I 
doubt  not." 

"  I  dare  say.  You  appealed  to  neutrality,  and  to 
neutrality  you  have  had  to  go." 

"  Yes.  After  Sumter  was  fired  upon,  and  the  call 
for  troops  was  issued,  Magoffin  sent  his  distinct  re- 
fusal.   It  was  as  curt  and  sharp  as  could  be." 

"  It  was  worse  than  that.    It  was  insulting." 

"  Very  well.  Perhaps  it  was.  Well,  the  Northern 
papers  urged  Lincoln  to  treat  it  as  an  aflfront,  assert- 
ing that  it  contained  in  it  the  very  principle  of  State 
rights." 

"  And  so  it  did,  but  Lincoln  was  too  shrewd  to 
interpret  it  so." 

"  You  know  what  he  told  Garret  Davis  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that  while  he  held  that  Kentucky  ought  to 


A  Member  of  the  State  Guard       283 

furnish  her  quota  of  troops,  he  would  not  coerce  her, 
nor  treat  her  neutrality  as  hostile." 

"  He  went  even  further  to  Congressman  Under- 
wood, saying  that  while  he  hoped  Kentucky  would 
stand  by  the  Government,  if  she  did  not,  but  would 
preserve  her  neutrality,  he  would  see  that  no  Northern 
soldier  entered  the  State,  and  that  no  hostile  foot  tread 
Kentucky's  soil." 

"  That  was  fair  enough  on  the  face  of  it,"  said 
Boyd.  "  But  what  do  we  have  ?  Yankee  soldiers 
mustering  under  our  very  noses,  and  received  into  the 
Federal  army  as  companies  and  regiments." 

"  And  so,"  said  his  father,  "  your  Guard  went  out 
to  resist  invasion  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  like  the  King  of  France  with  twice  ten 
thousand  men,  we  have  marched  up  a  hill  and  then 
marched  down  again." 

"What  did  you  find?" 

"  These  troops  are  all  Kentuckians." 

"  And  the  officers  from  the  regular  army  ?  " 

"  They  are  Kentuckians,  too.  There  is  Anderson, 
sent  here  from  Fort  Sumter.  He  is  a  Kentuckian. 
There  is  Nelson,  right  out  of  the  navy,  and  made  a 
general.  Why?  Simply  because  he  is  a  Kentuckian, 
and  Lincoln  will  not  break  his  promise.  But  all  the 
time  there  are  these  thousands  of  men  mustering  at 
Camp  Nelson,  and  virtually  holding  Kentucky  in  the 
Union  by  force  of  arms.  And  can  we  attack  them? 
No,  for  they  are  Kentuckians.  Can  Jefif  Davis  send 
in  troops  and  attack  them?  No,  for  he  is  bound  to 
respect  our  neutrality,  and  fears  to  make  us  more 
solidly  Union  by  invasion.  But  all  this  time,  though 
Confederates  are  mustering  along  the  Potomac,  and 


284  Pine  Knot 

Confederate  bugle  calls  are  heard  across  the  river  in 
Washington,  the  line  of  the  Confederacy  is  pushed  a 
hundred  miles  and  more  south  from  the  Ohio,  and 
held  there  by  men  under  arms,  arms  sent  by  Lincoln, 
and  they  are  drilled  by  officers  sent  by  Lincoln,  but 
we  dare  not  lift  a  finger  because  they  are  Kentuckians ! 
Why,  on  this  last  movement  of  ours  we  rode  on  the 
same  train,  these  blue-coated  Federal  soldiers  in  one 
car  and  we  in  another.  Dared  we  shoot?  They  are 
Kentucky  citizens,  bearing  arms  as  they  have  a  right. 
We,  too,  are  Kentucky  citizens,  bearing  arms  as  we 
have  a  right.  But  we  are  impotent,  while  they  are 
able  to  muster  by  thousands,  making  an  army  in  our 
midst.  It  is  a  perfect  farce !  The  Northern  news- 
papers that  are  crying  out  against  Lincoln  for  recog- 
nizing the  neutrality  of  Kentucky  are  the  greatest 
fools  of  the  century,  unless  it  is  we,  who  have  been 
fooled  by  supposing  that  Kentucky's  neutrality  would 
benefit  the  South." 

"  Yet,  the  North  has  criticised  Lincoln  severely." 

"  So  it  has." 

"  I  read  an  article  by  James  Russell  Lowell,  ask- 
ing '  How  often  must  we  save  Kentucky,  and  lose  our 
self-respect  ? '  " 

"  And  I  have  seen  a  quotation  from  a  Boston  min- 
ister, who  says  sarcastically,  '  Abraham  Lincoln  hopes 
that  he  has  God  on  his  side,  but  thinks  he  must  have 
Kentucky.'  " 

"  The  truth  is,"  said  Boyd,  "  that  Lincoln  has  un- 
derstood the  situation  too  well.  He  will  hold  off  until 
the  South,  angered  by  this  Federal  army  which  it 
sees  here,  invades  the  State.  All  the  time  he  will  be 
gaining  the  sympathy  of  undecided  people,  who  are 


A  Member  of  the  State  Guard       285 

ready  to  turn  against  which  ever  party  proves  the 
aggressor  in  Kentucky,  The  State  will  then  have  to 
declare  itself,  and  the  June  elections  show  that  it  will 
be  for  the  Union." 

"  God  grant  it !  "  said  the  father. 

"  Well,  I  shall  not  be  here  to  see  it,  unless  I  come 
in  with  the  invaders.  I  go  next  Monday  to  Knox- 
ville." 

"  But  what  about  leaving  the  State  Guard  ?  " 

"  The  State  Guard !  "  laughed  Boyd.  "  That  has 
collapsed.  They  were  about  gone  up  before,  so  many 
have  resigned.  A  few  have  entered  the  Federal  army, 
but  most  have  gone  South.  A  dozen  go  with  me.  We 
shall  go  straight  through  to  Knoxville,  and  enlist 
under  Zollicofifer." 

"  If  you  must  fight  at  all,"  said  his  father,  "  there 
is  no  better  man  on  the  Confederate  side  than  General 
ZollicofTer.  He  is  a  true  man  and  a  gentleman,  though 
a  rebel." 

So  the  father  and  son  came  together  after  their  one 
bitter  quarrel,  discussed  their  differences  warmly,  but 
in  kindness,  and  the  son  went  forth  from  his  father's 
roof  to  fight  in  the  Confederate  army. 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

NEAR   THE   CATARACT 

There  was  a  great  sensation  in  Pine  Knot  when 
the  first  money  was  received  from  Mr.  Buzbee.  All 
concealment  was  now  at  an  end,  and  work  was  begun 
in  earnest.  Blake  confessed  to  Renfro  that  he  knew 
of  the  mine,  and,  assured  by  this  investment  from  the 
North,  pleaded  to  be  allowed  to  buy  some  stock,  and 
was  sold  two  shares.  Noel  Davis,  too,  was  an  early 
investor,  and  a  number  of  the  people  round  about 
sold  their  cows  and  made  their  first  payments.  Then 
the  working  force  was  gathered.  It  was  a  motley 
crew.  The  jail  doors  were  allowed  to  swing  rather 
freely  just  then,  and  prisoners  were  permitted  to  escape 
on  condition  of  joining  the  army,  and  some  of  them 
preferred  to  invest  in  silver.  One  or  two  runaway 
slaves  came  up  from  the  South,  and  the  mine  pro- 
prietors were  too  intent  on  larger  matters  to  ask  them 
many  questions,  and  they  were  too  far  back  in  the 
hills  to  fear  arrest.  Goodwin  and  Noel  Davis,  how- 
ever, had  them  in  mind  as  a  possible  asset  in  case  of 
need.  There  were  some  deserters  from  the  two  armies, 
who  settled  their  differences  peaceably  in  their  quest 
for  silver. 

286 


Near  the  Cataract  287 

For  several  weeks  no  building  was  attempted. 
Renfro  favored  the  immediate  erection  of  a  furnace, 
but  Goodwin  declared  the  amount  of  money  on  hand 
too  small,  and  set  the  men  at  work  hunting  for  the  trees 
with  the  compass,  square,  and  trowel,  and  the  search  of 
the  rock  houses  for  the  missing  hoards  of  John  Swift. 
At  length,  as  the  men  wearied  of  this,  the  erection  of 
a  furnace  was  begun,  but  work  was  soon  suspended 
awaiting  the  receipt  of  more  money.  The  people  who 
subscribed  for  stock  were  impoverishing  themselves  to 
pay  their  assessments,  and  were  only  partially  satisfied 
by  Goodwin's  explanation  that  the  greater  part  of  the 
money  had  been  sent  away  for  machinery,  some  of 
which  had  to  be  made  to  order. 

Smart  rode  hither  and  thither,  selling  stock  in  the 
mine,  and  taking  as  payments  all  manner  of  personal 
property,  which  he  disposed  of,  and  credited  the  same 
to  the  stock  account  of  the  investors.  The  prices 
allowed  were  so  generous  that  they  offered  great 
temptation  to  those  who  had  anything  to  sell.  When 
Tom  Lawson  learned  that  he  was  credited  with  thirty 
dollars  for  his  cow,  and  then  found  to  a  certainty  that 
Smart  had  received  only  twenty-five  dollars  for  her, 
he  felt  so  elated  over  the  matter  that  he  straight- 
way sold  Smart  his  mule,  which  the  Government  con- 
tractor at  Whitley  Courthouse  was  willing  to  buy  for 
a  hundred  dollars  cash ;  and  Smart  sold  him  two  shares 
of  stock,  with  fifty-five  dollars  paid  up  on  each.  Tom 
Lawson  was  of  two  minds  about  it — delighted  to  be 
making  money  so  fast,  and  troubled  a  little  in  his  con- 
science ;  so  he  spoke  to  Goodwin  about  it.  Goodwin 
replied  that  it  was  all  right;  that  Smart  had,  indeed, 
been  over-generous  in  the  matter,  but  that  it  was  the 


288  Pine  Knot 

policy  of  the  company  to  favor  the  neighbors  and  the 
early  purchasers ;  and  he  advised  Tom  to  keep  still, 
and  hold  on  to  his  stock,  which  would  be  worth  a 
thousand  dollars  a  share  some  day. 

So  matters  went  on  until  autumn. 

"  You've  got  to  go  off  for  a  visit,  old  gal,"  said 
Goodwin  to  his  wife.  "  You've  got  word  that  your 
aunt  is  sick,  over  in  Letcher  County,  do  you  under- 
stand ?    Smart'll  go  with  ye,  and  git  ye  settled  down." 

"  But  I  ain't  got  ary  aunt  in  Letcher,"  said  Mrs. 
Goodwin. 

"You  hain't?"  laughed  Goodwin.  "Well,  then, 
you  kin  sorter  adopt  one — cyan't  she.  Smart  ?  " 

"  She's  sorter  fell  heir  to  one,"  laughed  Smart. 

"  Now  lookye  here,"  said  Goodwin,  "  when  you 
git  thar,  mebby  hit  won't  be  in  Letcher,  atter  all.  But 
hit'll  be  Letcher  till  you  git  thar.  And  hit's  your  aunt 
you're  goin'  to  see.  She's  right  sick,  and  I  don't 
reckon  you'll  git  back  before  spring.  You'll  take  the 
boy,  and  Smart'll  take  keer  of  you  till  I  come." 

"  What'll  you  be  doin'  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I'll  be  a-^ellin'  oflf  my  hogs  and  cows  and  things. 
The  war's  makin'  good  prices,  and  I'll  invest  in  stock." 

"  In  stock !  "  laughed  Smart. 

"  Peleg,"  said  his  wife,  "  you  ain't  a-puttin'  too 
much  into  that  mine,  be  ye  ?  " 

"  Well,  not  skursely,"  said  he  dryly. 

"  Not  skursely !  "  echoed  Smart  with  immoderate 
laughter. 

"  If  you've  got  ary  thing  you're  sorter  sot  your 
heart  on,  you  best  take  it,"  said  Goodwin ;  "  but  you 
mustn't  take  no  more'n  what  you  need  for  a  long  visit. 
But  you  ain't  a-comin'  back  right  soon." 


Near  the  Cataract  289 

"  When  I  come  back,  Peleg,  will  you  git  me  a 
new  house,  or " 

"  Yes,"  said  he,  "  but  hit  won't  be  the  one  we 
talked  about.  That's  too  small  game.  I've  had  to 
sell  a  heap  of  my  land  around  here — for  to  buy  stock, 
you  understand — and  when  I  build,  hit  may  not  be 
right  here.  Now  that's  enough.  And  don't  you  say 
a  blamed  word  without  that  you're  goin'  to  your  aunt's 
over  in  Letcher — you  hear?  You're  a-goin'  to  start 
a  Monday." 

Goodwin  spat  straight  into  the  fire,  looked  stern 
and  uncommunicative  through  his  glasses  till  his  eyes 
met  Smart's,  when  his  face  relaxed  a  little. 

"  Quit  laughin',  you  fool !  "  he  said  to  Smart,  but 
not  very  severely. 

But  Smart  only  laughed  the  louder,  and  as  he  sad- 
dled his  horse  to  ride  ofif  after  some  hogs  which  Good- 
win had  bought,  and  paid  for,  in  part,  with  stock,  he 
pulled  his  nondescript  hat  lower  over  his  close-cropped 
head,  and  sang  gleefully : 

"  My  true  love  she  lives  in  Letcher, 

Ho-de-um-de-diddle-a-de-day  ! 
She  won't  come,  and  I  cyan't  fetch  her, 

Ho-de-um-de-diddle-a-de-day  ! 
Chickens  is  a-crovvin'  on  the  Sourwood  Mountain, 

Ho-de-um-de-diddle-a-de-day  ! 
Seen  so  many  pretty  girls  I  cyan't  count  'em, 

Ho-de-um-de-diddle-a-de-day  ! " 

Meantime  the  school  was  closing  a  successful  if 
not  a  brilliant  session.  There  was  some  prejudice 
against  women  teachers,  and  the  community  was  too 
much  disturbed  about  the  war  and  the  mine  to  give 
the  school  a  fair  chance.     Barbara  and  Liberty  did 


290  Pine  Knot 

their  duty  with  fideUty,  and  Barbara  delighted  daily 
in  the  companionship  of  her  friend. 

They  laughed  together  over  the  ghost,  when  Lib- 
erty confessed  her  share  in  the  enterprise,  and  they 
agreed  in  their  admiration  of  Fletcher,  and  in  their 
sympathy  for  Joe  Lakes,  who  still  worshiped  Lib- 
erty afar  ofT,  but  was  too  great  a  man  to  come  to 
school  to  women. 

They  did  not  see  Fletcher,  and  they  seldom  talked 
of  him;  but  Barbara  cherished  the  thought  that  she 
was  no  longer  in  honor  bound,  and  easily  convinced 
herself  that  she  cared  the  more  for  him  now  that  he 
was  so  far  away,  and  was  doing  his  duty  so  nobly. 
And  yet,  and  yet,  there  were  times  when  Barbara 
thought  of  Boyd  Estill.  But  all  the  while  Liberty 
thought  not  at  all.  At  least  it  seemed  so;  for  in  the 
moments  when  Barbara  caught  her  at  what  might  have 
seemed  to  be  thinking,  she  began  humming.  There 
was  no  resisting  it,  and  after  awhile  Barbara  began 
hum.ming  with  her,  though  with  a  heavy  heart  some- 
times : 

"  I'll  get  another  one,  skip-t'-m-Ioo  ! 
Skip-t'-m'-loo,  my  darling  !" 

All  this  time  Mrs.  Buzbee  failed  visibly.  Barbara 
often  feared  that  she  would  not  live  till  her  father's 
return.  Once  she  broached  to  her  mother  a  topic 
often  in  her  mind,  and  raised  the  question  whether  it 
were  not  better  for  her  to  write  to  her  grandfather, 
and  ask  to  be  received  again  into  the  old  home  at 
Lexington.  But  her  mother  with  great  spirit  instantly 
vetoed  the  suggestion. 

"  No,  no,  my  child !  How  can  you  think  of  such 
a  thing  ?    We  have  burned  our  bridge  behind  us.    So 


Near  the  Cataract  291 

long  as  your  father  Hves  it  is  impossible.    To  return 
would  be  to  desert  him !     No,  no,  my  child !  " 

"  It  was  for  your  sake  I  proposed  it,  mother,  not 
my  own." 

"  Then  for  my  sake  do  not  mention  it  again." 
In  September  word  came  from  Mr.  Buzbee  that  he 
was  starting  South,  and  that  they  must  move  to 
the  falls,  as  he  would  be  employed  there  constantly. 
Renfro  had  a  pole  cabin  hastily  constructed,  so  rude 
and  bare  that  they  longed  even  for  the  cabin  of  Deek 
Morgan,  and  there  they  moved,  when  school  was  out. 
The  journey  was  almost  fatal  to  Mrs.  Buzbee,  and  the 
suspense  that  followed  was  nearly  intolerable.  For 
still  Mr.  Buzbee  delayed  to  come,  and  the  crowd  that 
had  gathered  about  the  mine  was  not  one  in  which 
they  could  feel  at  home.  And  so  October  came,  and 
the  rainbow  that  hovered  in  the  mist  above  the  falls 
fell  on  the  foliage  on  the  hillsides  above,  and  Nature 
was  glorious  in  her  shroud. 

Early  in  October  a  dozen  well-mounted  Ken- 
tuckians,  who  rode  like  human  centaurs,  pulled  up 
in  front  of  The  Best  Hotel,  and  called  for  refresh- 
ment. 

"  'Light,  gentlemen,  and  lift  your  saddles,"  said 
the  pleased  proprietor.  "  If  we  cyan't  treat  you  good, 
we'll  treat  you  clever." 

He  did  his  best,  no  doubt,  but  the  well-fed  young 
men  from  the  blue  grass,  whose  military  experience 
in  the  State  Guard  had  been  mostly  of  a  picnic  nature, 
enjoyed  the  dinner  but  moderately,  and  complained 
against  Boyd  Estill  whose  whim  had  brought  them 
out  of  their  way. 


292  Pine  Knot 

"  What  is  it,  Boyd  ?  Tell  us  what  you  wanted  in 
Pine  Knot?" 

"  What  have  you  against  Pine  Knot  ? "  asked 
Boyd. 

"  Nothing  except  that  it  is  tough  as  a  pine  knot," 
answered  one  of  them. 

"  You  libel  it,"  answered  Boyd. 

"  Perhaps  so.  But  I  pine  not  for  any  more  of  its 
board.    Come,  let  us  go  on." 

"  Rest  your  horses  for  an  hour,"  said  Boyd,  "  and 
I  will  go  with  you.  I  must  make  a  visit  here. — Land- 
lord, where  is  the  schoolhouse  ?  " 

"  'Bout  half  a  mile  up  yan  branch.  Wha'  d'ye  want 
o'  the  schoolhouse  ?  " 

"  I  want  to  see  the  teacher,  Mr.  Buzbee." 

"  That  ain't  the  way  to  go,  then.  He's  gone  to 
Boston." 

"  How  long  has  he  been  gone  ?  " 

"  Sence  'long  about  Christmas.  Wha'  d'ye  want 
to  see  him  about  ?  " 

"  I  have  some  business  with  him.  Is — is  his  family 
here?" 

"  Nope." 

"  Did  they  go  to  Boston  with  him  ?  " 

"  Nope.  They  moved,  Mis'  Buzbee  and  Miss  Bar- 
bara did.  They  moved  back  into  the  mountains  to- 
wards the  river  a-yistiddy.  They're  clar  to  the  jump- 
in'-oflf  place,  whar  the  water  gives  its  first  leap  afore  it 
gits  to  the  out  aidge  of  the  world." 

"Where  is  that?" 

"  That's  at  the  Falls  of  the  Cumberland.  Hit's  a 
good  long  ride  from  here." 

"  Boys,"  said  Estill,  "  Pm  sorry,  but  I  must  ask 


Near  the  Cataract  293 

you  to  ride  on  without  me.  I'll  meet  you  in  Knox- 
ville.    I  must  go  to  Cumberland  Falls," 

"  Ah !  this  is  the  situation  is  it,  Estill  ?  This  is  the 
fair  puss  in  the  meal?  You  bring  us  around  Robin 
Hood's  barn  for  an  unexplained  reason,  and  lo,  it's  a 
mountain  beauty  you're  hunting!  And  you  want  us 
to  ride  on,  while  you  go  and  visit  her?  No,  by  the 
girl  I  left  behind  me !  " 

"  I  was  jest  a-goin'  to  say,"  suggested  Best,  "  that 
if  you  fellers  has  any  notion  of  goin'  to  Knoxville, 
hit  ain't  best  for  ye  to  scatter  much.  They's  a  heap 
of  fellers  a-comin'  up  from  Tennessy  now  lo  enlist  at 
Camp  Dick  Robinson,  and  the  most  of  'em  are  right 
smartly  in  airnest." 

"  You  think  to  frighten  us?  "  asked  Boyd. 

"  No-o.  Not  adzackly.  But  if  all  I've  heerd  is 
so,  something  is  goin'  to  take  place  and  happen  right 
soon  now.  They's  a  heap  of  fellers  moving  North,  and 
the  rebels  theirselves  is  movin'  somers.  I've  heerd 
that  old  Zolly  means  to  move  through  the  Gap  into 
Kaintuck.  But  I  ain't  no  reb.  I've  give  you  fair 
warnin'.  My  meat's  as  good  to  one  as  another,  and 
one  man's  money's  as  good  as  another's  to  me.  I've 
told  ye  what  I  think.    Now  do  as  ye  please." 

Convinced  that  a  visit  to  Barbara  was  imprac- 
ticable, yet  comforting  himself  with  the  thought  that 
Knoxville  was  not  so  far  away,  Boyd  reluctantly 
joined  his  companions  and  moved  South,  submitting 
to  their  jests  about  having  taken  them  out  of  their 
way  for  a  love  afifair.  And  so  Barbara  did  not  see  the 
man  who  loved  her. 


CHAPTER   XXX 

THE    PLUNGE 

There  was  never  a  more  beautiful  autumn.  Had 
things  been  different,  Barbara  could  have  gloried  in 
those  weeks  beside  Cumberland  Falls.  But  they  were 
weeks  of  constant  anxiety  and  continued  disappoint- 
ment. Mr.  Buzbee  did  not  arrive,  and  the  hope  long 
deferred  made  their  hearts  sick.  Barbara  knew  that 
her  mother  was  dying,  a  martyr  she  sometimes  said 
to  herself — and  then  checked  herself  in  the  act  of  say- 
ing it — a  martyr  to  her  father's  fanaticism. 

Meantime  the  men,  who  had  been  paid  but  little, 
and  were  put  off  with  promises  of  Mr.  Buzbee's  re- 
turn, grew  almost  desperate.  Ren  fro  led  them  on 
quest  after  quest,  searching  for  the  hidden  money.  A 
single  find  just  now  would  be  a  Godsend.  But  they 
did  not  find  it.  Then  they  dug  ore,  and  began  a  fur- 
nace ;  but  this  again  was  stopped  "  for  lack  of  funds." 

There  was  something  queenly  in  Barbara  in  those 
days.  The  long,  hard  winter,  the  experience  in  the 
schoolroom,  the  endurance  of  suspicion  and  neglect, 
the  positive  privation  and  all  had  made  a  woman  of 
her.  As  her  mother's  strength  diminished,  her  own 
fortitude  increased.  With  a  dignity  and  maturity 
which  she  had  not  possessed  before  she  bore  those 
294 


i 


The  Plunge  295 

anxious  days  that  slowly  grew  to  months.  And  the 
longest  and  hardest  of  them  all  were  those  beside  the 
falls  when  the  beauty  of  Nature  seemed  to  be  mocking 
her  own  sad  heart.  At  length  her  father's  delay  be- 
came almost  intolerable,  not  only  because  of  her 
mother's  extreme  weakness,  but  because  of  the  danger 
from  the  mutinous  men. 

For  a  time  all  labor  was  suspended.  Finally,  when 
riot  threatened,  work  was  resumed,  and  the  small, 
rough  furnace  was  completed.  The  men  set  them- 
selves eagerly  at  the  digging  of  ore,  and  then  came 
another  delay  while  they  burned  the  charcoal.  Then 
came  the  first  real  sign  of  a  result,  for  the  furnace, 
heated  till  the  flame  roared  out  of  the  top,  reduced 
the  rock  to  a  molten  mass,  and  when  they  punched  in 
the  clay  that  stopped  the  furnace,  the  liquid  metal 
ran  out  and  filled  the  little  trenches  that  had  been 
made  for  it  in  the  sand. 

The  men  gave  a  great  cheer.  They  were  seeing  the 
silver  at  last. 

"  But  this  ain't  all  pure  silver,"  said  Goodwin, 
hastening  to  correct  a  misunderstanding  that  might 
be  serious.  "  Hit's  'most  all  silver,  but  not  all.  We'll 
have  to  cupel  it,  and  for  that  we'll  have  to  wait  till 
Mr.  Buzbee  gits  back.    He's  on  the  way  now." 

The  men  accepted  this  explanation  grudgingly. 
Both  the  workmen  and  the  local  capitalists,  who  had 
recently  increased  to  a  considerable  number,  were 
eager  to  see  the  first  pure  silver.  Still,  they  possessed 
their  souls  in  what  for  them  was  patience,  and  every 
day  ran  another  blast  of  the  unrefined  ingots,  which 
soon  lay  rusting  about  in  great  heaps. 

At  last  Mr.  Buzbee  came.    He  was  a  weak  and  hag- 


296  Pine  Knot 

gard  man,  and  barely  able  to  sit  upon  a  horse.  Barely 
able  to  reach  the  cabin  by  the  falls,  he  sank  upon  his 
bed,  hardly  able  to  rise  and  stand  by  the  bed  of  his 
wife,  who  seemed  to  have  lived  only  that  she  might 
see  him  again. 

"  But,  oh,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "  it  is  glorious !  I 
shall  not  live  long,  I  know.  I  am  a  sick  man,  but  I 
have  lived  to  see  the  triumph  of  that  for  which  we 
have  labored.  We  wait,  my  dear,  only  for  the  first 
marketable  output  from  our  mine.  Then  the  world 
will  know !  Then  the  proclamation  may  go  forth ! 
Then  the  President  may  send  to  Congress  his  message, 
and  add  that  the  money  is  in  sight!  Then  this  awful 
war  will  cease,  and  we  shall  die,  but  the  country  will 
be  united  and  free !  " 

Next  morning  Mrs.  Buzbee  was  worse,  and  her 
husband  was  better  only  because  he  must  be  so. 
Goodwin  had  gone  to  Rockhold  to  see  about  the  lead 
that  he  had  ordered  to  use  in  cupelling  the  ingots. 
He  left  word,  however,  that  he  would  be  back  by 
night,  and  to  melt  up  as  much  of  the  ingot  as  they  had 
lead  to  refine  it,  and  he  and  Mr.  Buzbee  would  attend 
to  it  together. 

Mr.  Buzbee  rose  in  pain  and  weakness  and  came 
to  the  furnace  to  see  the  work  that  had  been  done, 

"  Is  this  all  ?  "  he  cried,  when  he  saw  the  rude  little 
furnace. 

"  All  but  a  cupelling  furnace,"  said  Renfro. 

"  And  where  has  the  money  been  spent  ?  " 

"  Goodwin  says  he's  put  in  every  cent  he  got." 

A  black  suspicion  crossed  the  mind  of  Mr.  Buzbee, 
but  it  was  such  a  stranger  to  his  thought  that  he  in- 
stantly dismissed  it. 


The  Plunge  297 

"  And  what  are  these  ?  "  he  asked,  pointing  to  the 
ingots  lying  about. 

"  That's  what  we've  cast  ready  for  refining." 

"  But  this  is  simply  pig  iron !  " 

"  Well,  Goodwin  said  that  was  the  way.  Don't  it 
count  for  nothing  ?  " 

"  Possibly — possibly.  The  rock  has  been  elimi- 
nated. But  we  must  remelt  it  with  lead  before  we 
get  it  ready  to  cupel.  Lead  and  borax.  Is  there  borax 
here?" 

"  Yes,  and  lead." 

"  Well,  then,  remelt  as  much  of  this  as  there  is  lead 
and  borax  to  make  flux,  and  spend  to-day  and  to- 
night in  getting  it  ready.  Then  you  must  get  bones 
enough  to  give  us  bone  ash  to  mix  with  our  wood 
ashes  for  the  cupelling.  I  will  give  full  directions, 
but  I  must  read  them  over  again.  Make  these  prepa- 
rations. We  shall  see  no  silver  to-day.  I  will  read 
as  I  sit  by  Mrs.  Buzbee.  To-night  Goodwin  will 
return.    To-morrow  we  will  cupel." 

The  unpaid,  disappointed,  brutal  men  liked  it  little 
that  they  were  sent  out  after  other  material.  But  it 
was  a  new  sort  of  work,  and  hence  presumably  prog- 
ress. They  uncovered  the  charcoal  pit  which  they 
had  burned,  and  heaped  the  charcoal  near  the  refining 
furnace.  They  searched  for  bones,  and  found  them — 
some  they  thought  were  human  bones,  but  these,  far 
from  making  them  shudder,  only  reminded  them  again 
of  Swift,  to  whose  party  they  presumably  belonged. 

All  day  Mrs.  Buzbee  grew  steadily  worse,  and  Buz- 
bee was  so  sick  that  only  his  duty  to  his  wife  and  his 
eagerness  to  see  the  result  of  his  labors  kept  him  up. 
All  day  his  wife  lay,  growing  weaker;  all  day  he  sat 


298  Pine  Knot 

by  her  side,  one  hand  in  hers  and  one  holding  a  book, 
returning  her  appeaHng  look  with  haggard  glances  of 
sympathy  that  quickly  sought  the  pages  of  his  book 
again. 

Now  and  then  he  would  slip  away  for  a  moment 
and  see  to  the  burning  of  the  bones,  and  later  to  the 
making  of  the  little  ashen  saucers.  Then  with  a 
guilty  feeling  he  would  come  back,  resolved  to  de- 
vote himself  to  his  wife,  but  soon  he  would  find 
himself  stealing  furtive  glances  at  his  book.  All 
the  time  the  hectic  flush  was  on  his  own  pale,  dying 
face. 

Another  night  passed,  and  in  the  morning  Mrs. 
Buzbee  was  still  alive,  but  the  end  was  manifestly  near. 
Barbara  had  ceased  to  hope  for  anything  else,  or  to 
pray  that  it  might  be  delayed.  Mrs.  Buzbee  was  con- 
scious, and  bore  her  weakness  with  patience,  yet  her 
eyes  hungered  for  the  undivided  thought  of  her  hus- 
band, and  that  she  did  not  get. 

Goodwin  had  not  returned  the  night  before,  but 
was  confidently  expected  early  this  morning.  Against 
his  return  the  furnace  was  heated,  and  some  of  the 
ingots  were  remelted  with  lead  and  borax,  and  run 
ofif  in  slag  at  whose  bottom  the  lead  settled,  and  that, 
as  Mr.  Buzbee  explained,  contained  the  silver.  This 
was  a  revelation  to  the  workmen.  The  bars  which 
they  had  run  out  before  they  had  supposed  almost 
pure  silver.  These,  as  now  remelted,  left  but  a  paltry 
residuum,  and  this  must  be  still  further  diminished. 
Yet  doubtless  there  was  silver  there,  and  for  this  they 
waited. 

The  day  wore  on.  Goodwin  did  not  return.  The 
men's  faces,  aflame  with  the  heat,  grew  dark  with  sus- 


The  Plunge  299 

picion  and  passion.  The  sun  set,  and  the  twiUght 
deepened. 

"  Put  away  your  book,  father,"  said  Barbara.  "  The 
end  is  near,  I  am  sure." 

With  a  sigh  he  laid  his  book  aside,  and  took  the 
wrist  of  his  wife  in  his  hand.  The  pulse  grew  unmis- 
takably fainter.  He  administered  a  mild  stimulant; 
it  was  all  there  was  left  to  do.  She  brightened  and 
looked  up  in  his  face  and  smiled,  but  it  was  a 
wan,  weak  smile,  and  had  in  it  memories  of  many 
things. 

Blake  and  Renfro  came  tiptoeing  in,  and  stopped, 
hushed  by  the  sight  before  them.  At  last  Renfro 
spoke. 

"  Mr.  Buzbee,"  said  he,  "  hit's  a  sin  to  say  a  word, 
but  we  just  got  to.  Goodwin  ain't  back,  and  the  men 
are  crazy  to  see  silver.  They've  got  some  whisky 
somehow,  I  don't  know  how,  and  they're  about  wild. 
We've  told  them  everything  we  kin  think  of  to  pacify 
them,  and  we  cyan't  do  it  no  more.  We've  got  the 
refining  furnace  hot,  and  the  cupels  are  all  ready. 
Come,  jest  long  enough  to  finish  one  little  lot,  if  it 
ain't  more  than  ten  cents'  worth.  We — we  wouldn't 
ast  it,  but  if  you  don't,  I  believe  they'll  kill  us  all  by 
morning.  The  men  that  lives  around  here,  our  own 
sort  of  folks,  you  know,  they're  doin'  their  best  to  hold 
'em  back.  They've  got  their  own  little  money  in  it, 
and  they're  beginning  to  suspect  they  ain't  been  dealt 
with  fair.  They  ain't  so  desperate  as  the  workmen, 
but  they're  gittin'  right  mad,  too.  Come  jest  long 
enough  to  finish  one  lot,  and  we  won't  pester  ye  no 
more." 

Barbara  looked  at  her  father,  and  he  turned  to  her 


300  Pine  Knot 

appealingly,  as  he  always  looked  to  some  one  to  decide 
for  him  in  such  cases, 

"  You  must  go,  father,"  said  she,  "  but  hurry 
back." 

He  looked  at  his  wife,  and  her  eyes  gave  their  as- 
sent, but  she  moved  her  head  ever  so  little,  and  he 
understood  it,  and,  bending  over  her,  kissed  her.  Then 
he  hurried  out. 

The  refining  crucible  was  built  a  little  apart  from 
the  main  furnace,  and  was  sheltered  by  the  high  walls 
of  the  blufif.  It  was  glowing  with  a  great  heat,  and 
the  men  were  gathered  about  it,  for  they  had  been 
told  that  Renfro  and  Blake  had  gone  to  bring  Buzbee. 
Their  dark  looks  brightened  a  little  as  the  three  men 
came  walking  down.  They  stood  aside  and  let  them 
through  to  the  door  of  the  furnace. 

Mr.  Buzbee  took  the  shovel,  and,  opening  the 
muffle,  set  in  a  half  dozen  of  the  saucer-shaped  ash 
dishes,  and,  taking  up  the  leaden  lumps  with  a  pair  of 
tongs,  placed  one  in  each. 

"  It  will  not  take  long  now,"  he  said.  "  We  will 
open  these  doors  soon  that  the  air  may  pass  through, 
and  separate  the  molten  metals.  Forgive  me,  my 
friends,  for  neglecting  you.  Only  the  most  painful 
duty  has  kept  me  in  my  home  this  day.  But  you 
shall  see  now  that  you  have  not  trusted  me  in  vain.  I 
am  sorry  not  to  have  had  much  experience  in  this 
work,  though  I  have  learned  the  process  by  reading. 
Mr.  Goodwin,  if  here,  could  assist  me  very  much.  But 
I  can  do  this,  and  then  I  must  hasten  to  my  dying 
wife." 

There  was  a  silence  that  had  in  it  some  element 
of  sympathy.     The  small  investors  who  had  put  in 


The  Plunge  301 

their  all  stood  nearest,  and  the  menacing  rabble  hud- 
dled a  little  farther  back. 

"  We're  mighty  sorry  to  call  you  away,"  said  Jake 
Crawford,  "  and,  much  as  we  want  to  see  this,  I  for 
one  would  be  willing  to  let  it  go  for  to-night." 

"  No,  no !  "  cried  the  crowd. 

"  No,  my  friends,"  said  Buzbee ;  "  you  shall  see 
silver  before  I  leave  you.  We  will  open  these  doors 
now,  and  let  the  oxidation  begin." 

After  a  little  while  he  opened  the  front  door  of  the 
muffle,  and  the  expectant  throng  huddled  closer. 
Within,  a  half  dozen  saucers  of  boiling  lead  were  bub- 
bling and  spluttering  and  diminishing. 

"  Hit  gits  less  and  less,"  said  Blake. 

"  That  is  the  lead  absorbing,"  said  Mr.  Buzbee. 
"  The  silver  will  remain.  And  now,  watch,  for  the 
beautiful  moment  is  at  hand.  You  are  soon  to  see  the 
coruscation,  which  will  shoot  the  surface  over  with 
rainbow  streaks ! " 

They  gathered  nearer,  but  few  could  look  within 
at  one  time.  Nearest  stood  Blake  and  Renfro,  and 
the  stockholders  were  behind  them.  The  bubbling 
masses  grew  less  and  less,  and  in  one  of  the  cupels  it 
disappeared  entirely,  leaving  a  thin,  leadlike  scum. 
A  horror  seized  Mr.  Buzbee,  and  he  strained  his  eyes 
at  the  next  one.  In  another  moment  it  too  was  gone, 
and  the  cupel  was  empty.  A  third  went  out  un- 
watched,  and  the  three  that  remained  were  sinking 
low.  For  a  moment  Mr.  Buzbee  stood  dazed,  and 
then  the  life  within  him  seemed  to  him  to  go  out,  even 
as  the  lead  went  out  of  the  ashen  saucers,  and  he  stood 
with  a  vacant  stare  watching  the  remaining  cupels  as 
one  by  one  the  metal  vanished  and  left  no  silver  in 


302  Pine  Knot 

the  bottom.  It  was  a  moment  of  blackness  from  the 
very  pit;  of  blindness  and  groping;  of  stupor,  yet  of 
pain  such  as  can  come  only  from  the  refinement  of 
cruel  torment. 

Fortunately,  those  behind  did  not  see  all  this  in 
the  face  of  the  man  whose  eyes  like  theirs  were  upon 
the  furnace  door.  Nor  did  many  of  them  see  within, 
or  all  of  these  understand  what  they  saw. 

"  Father,  father !  "  cried  Barbara,  running  in  at  the 
moment.     "  Come !     You  must  come  this  moment !  " 

Mechanically  he  turned,  and  she  took  his  arm  and 
hurried  him  away. 

Renfro  slammed  the  door  of  the  furnace,  and  said : 
"  Men,  this  is  plumb  wicked !  It's  plain  we  ain't 
a-goin'  to  be  able  to  finish  any  of  this  to-night.  We're 
keepin'  a  sick  man  that's  turned  heaven  and  airth  for 
us  away  from  his  dyin'  wife.  We  just  got  to  leave  this 
thing  go  till  mornin'.  Mr.  Buzbee  has  done  all  we 
ast,  and  more'n  we'd  orter  ast.  Now  we  must  let  him 
go  till  mornin'.  In  the  mornin'  we'll  finish  up  this 
that's  begun,  and  do  some  more,  and  pay  you  all  off. 
— Blake,  you  help  Mr.  Buzbee  to  the  house. — Don't 
nobody  interfere  with  this  furnace  to-night,  for  if  you 
do,  when  hit's  so  hot,  like  as  not  you'll  crack  it,  and 
we  cyan't  do  nothin'  to-morrow  if  ye  do  that." 

The  men  dispersed,  though  not  without  grumbling. 
They  had  waited  and  been  disappointed  again  and 
again.  However,  the  stockholders  assured  themselves 
that  an  honest  eflfort  had  been  made  in  their  behalf, 
and  this  temporarily  assured  the  others.  But  they 
talked  together,  and  those  who  had  stood  back  recalled 
Mr.  Buzbee's  promise  of  the  rainbow  streaks,  and 
those  who  had  stood  near  told  what  they  had  seen. 


The  Plunge  303 

Then  the  suspicions  grew  to  mutiny,  and  the  anger 
of  the  drunken  rabble  rose  again. 

Renfro  had  walked  slowly  from  the  furnace,  at- 
tended by  a  group  to  whom  he  was  explaining  the 
need  of  delay.  As  soon  as  he  was  able  he  dismissed 
them  with  a  plea  that  he  must  go  to  Mrs.  Buzbee's 
bedside.  As  soon  as  he  was  alone  he  ran  with  all  his 
speed  to  the  rock  house  that  served  as  a  stable. 

"  Here,  Pete !  "  he  whispered.  "  Git  up  and  hitch 
up  the  mules!  Quick!  Hitch  four  to  the  covered 
wagon,  and  have  'em  ready  to  start  when  I  come 
back!  Put  the  saddles  on  to  my  horse  and  Blake's, 
and  turn  the  others  loose !  " 

Then  he  hurried  to  the  cabin.  Just  before  him 
entered  Granny  White.  "  O  Miss  Barbara !  "  she 
cried,  "  you  alls  must  run  from  here  right  off !  Good- 
win has  done  run  off  with  the  money,  and  when  these 
men  find  it  out,  they'll  kill  you  alls — every  one  of 
you !  " 

Without  a  word  Renfro  stepped  to  the  head  of 
the  bed,  and  motioned  Blake  to  take  the  foot. 

"What  do  you  mean  to  do?"  asked  Mr.  Buzbee, 
but  they  did  not  speak.  They  lifted  the  straw  tick 
with  the  dying  woman  on  it,  and,  motioning  the  others 
to  follow,  hastened  through  the  door.  It  was  dark, 
and  the  men  at  the  crucible  below  found  it  yet  darker 
by  reason  of  the  light  of  the  fire  which  was  in  their 
eyes  while  they  poked  about  the  slag. 

They  laid  the  pallet  in  the  wagon,  and  Mr.  Buzbee, 
unable  longer  to  sit  up,  was  placed  upon  it  with  his 
wife.  Barbara  and  Granny  White  sat  down  to  care 
for  them,  though  they  found  themselves  unable  to  do 
much  aside  from  holding  on. 


304  Pine  Knot 

"  Go !  "  said  Mr.  Renfro,  and  Simon  Peter  plied 
the  whip.  The  four  mules  started  on  a  run  up  the 
river  and  through  the  ford,  up  the  steep  and  sidling 
bank,  and  on  through  the  dark,  rough  road  that  hardly 
could  be  called  a  road. 

Blake  and  Renfro  leaped  to  their  saddles.  "  Start 
on,"  said  Renfro,  "  and  what  horses  will  foller  you  let 
'emfoller!" 

Then,  breaking  a  switch,  he  whipped  the  loose 
horses  till  they  scattered  in  the  woods,  some  of  them 
following  down  the  road  after  the  wagon. 

The  noise  of  the  wheels  started  the  men  at  the 
furnace,  and  a  wild  yell  broke  forth  from  them.  Ren- 
fro struck  his  spurs  and  hastened  after  the  wagon, 
which  he  overtook  at  the  ford. 

"  Drive  on !  "  he  cried.  "  Faster !  Don't  stop  for 
nothing!  " 

Simon  Peter  jerked  his  rein  and  cracked  his  whip. 
The  mules  started  forward,  the  wagon  lurching  heavily 
from  side  to  side  in  the  water. 

"  Wait  here  with  me ! "  said  Renfro  to  Blake. 
"  That's  a  band  of  devils  straight  from  hell,  and  if 
they  catch  us,  our  lives  ain't  worth  the  cost  of  a 
coffin!  If  we  had  a  road  we  could  beat  'em,  but  a 
man  can  go  faster  than  a  wagon  till  we  get  to  the 
top  o'  the  mointain !  Wait  here  by  the  bank,  and 
the  first  two  men  that  come  near  enough  to  shoot, 
shoot ! " 

They  had  not  long  to  wait.  They  came  dashing 
through  the  rapids,  a  cursing,  murderous  crowd,  the 
most  brutal  well  in  the  front.  Big  and  black  their 
shapes  rose  up  in  the  night,  against  the  faint  red  of 
the  furnace  in  the  distance. 


The  Plunge  305 

"  Now !  "  whispered  Renfro,  and  two  sharp  reports 
rang  out. 

There  were  cries  of  pain,  there  were  sounds  of 
splashing,  and  calls  for  help  that  drifted  swiftly  down 
the  rapids.  One  grew  silent  after  a  minute  or  so,  but 
the  other  called  in  more  and  more  of  terror  till  at  last 
a  frightful  sliriek  was  drowned  in  the  roar  of  the  falls. 

The  two  horsemen  turned  and  rode  up  the  hill. 
There  was  momentary  confusion  among  the  pursuers, 
and  for  a  little  time  it  seemed  that  they  had  given  it 
up,  but  later  they  came  on  again  with  shoutings  more 
terrible.  They  sounded  ominous  to  the  two  horsemen 
that  guarded  the  rear  of  the  wagon,  but  they  rode  on 
in  grim  silence.  They  struck  terror  to  the  heart  of 
Barbara  and  Granny  White,  but  they  clung  on  and 
spoke  no  word.  But  Mr.  Buzbee  lay  as  one  incapable 
of  pain  or  terror,  dazed,  stunned,  made  senseless  by 
this  crowning  disappointment.  Once  or  twice  he 
seemed  to  realize  his  condition  and  cried  out,  "  My 
God !  my  God !  why  hast  thou  forsaken  me  ?  "  But  for 
the  most  part  he  lay  benumbed,  nor  heeded  the  death 
moan  in  which  the  spirit  of  his  wife  found  its  release. 

Again  the  pursuers  gained,  and  again  the  horse- 
men dropped  back  and  waited  in  ambush.  Again 
their  shots  were  followed  by  a  brief  respite,  and  now, 
the  top  of  the  mountain  reached,  the  mules  ran  dan- 
gerously along  the  ridge.  Simon  Peter  gave  up  at- 
tempt to  guide  them,  but  gave  them  their  head,  and, 
trusting  to  their  instinct  to  find  the  road,  crouched 
over  the  pommel  of  his  saddle  and  urged  them  on. 
Huge  branches  struck  the  wagon.  Great  stones  and 
roots  pitched  it  from  side  to  side.  At  times  it  seemed 
that  it  would  be  broken  and  disabled,  or  its  occu- 


3o6  Pine  Knot 

pants  spilled  out,  but  the  faithful  black  driver  still 
urged  the  mules  on. 

But  now  came  a  new  peril,  for  behind  them  as  they 
listened  they  heard  the  sound  of  hoofs.  The  pursuers 
had  captured  some  of  the  loose  horses,  and,  mounted 
on  them,  were  sure  to  overtake  them.  They  might 
have  hoped  to  tire  out  the  men  on  foot  and  leave  them 
behind,  but  not  these.  The  horses  were  fresh  and 
strong,  and  the  battle  would  be  between  two  on  the 
one  side  and  a  number  on  the  other  much  larger.  As 
they  listened,  the  noise  of  hoofs  grew  stronger,  and 
the  voices — and  they  were  cruel  and  bloodthirsty 
voices — showed  that  the  number  was  not  small. 

"  On,  Pete,  on !  God  bless  you,  old  fellow !  Get 
us  through  to-night,  and  you're  a  free  man  to-mor- 
row ! "  cried  Renfro. 

And  then  he  added :  "  Hit's  fool  talk.  He  don't 
want  to  be  free,  but  hit's  the  only  thing  I  kin  think  of 
to  encourage  him." 

Still  they  moved  on,  and  the  miles  sped  faster  now. 
The  trail  grew  into  a  road,  and,  while  a  most  atrocious 
one,  was  better  than  that  over  which  they  had  passed 
almost  miraculously.  But  the  horsemen  were  coming 
behind  them,  and  not  a  mile  away. 

"  There's  one  thing  we  kin  do,"  said  Blake.  '*  We 
kin  stop  here  and  unload,  and  git  well  back  in  the 
bushes,  and  have  Pete  whip  on  as  fur's  he  thinks  he 
kin  git,  and  then  he  git  off  and  run,  and  start  the 
mules  on." 

"  I  was  thinkin'  of  it,"  said  Renfro.  "  It's  the  only 
thing  they's  left  for  us.  I'll  ride  on  and  tell  Pete  what 
to  do." 

"What's  that  light?"  asked  Blake. 


The  Plunge  307 

Far  down  the  road  a  fire  shone  through  the  trees, 
and  burned  out  a  hemisphere  of  the  October  night. 

"  On,  Pete,  on !  "  cried  Renfro.  "  Make  that  fire 
and  we're  safe !  " 

"  Halt !  who  comes  there  ?  "  The  challenge  rang 
out  clear  and  strong,  but  the  sentinel  stood  aside  and 
let  the  wagon  pass,  for  the  mules  that  were  white  with 
lather  could  not  be  stopped  at  once. 

"  Friends !  "  shouted  Renfro,  "  and  we  need  help ! 
They's  a  band  of  cutthroats  atter  us ! " 

"Officer  of  the  guard !"  called  the  sentinel.  "Turn 
out  the  guard !  " 

Sleepy  men  in  gray  crawled  out  and  got  their  guns. 
Blake  and  Renfro  stood  back  a  little  in  the  shadow. 
On  came  the  horsemen,  pulling  up  a  little  for  the  fire, 
and  coming  to  a  halt  as  they  saw  the  soldiers. 

"  Who  comes  here  ?  " 

"  Friends.    Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  An  outpost  of  General  ZollicoflFer's  army.  Ad- 
vance with  the  countersign." 

"  We  don't  have  it.  We're  following  some  people 
that  have  robbed  us." 

"  Jake  Crawford,"  called  Renfro,  "  will  ye  listen 
to  reason  ?  " 

"Is  that  you,  Renfro?" 

"  Yes.  Be  the  men  that's  with  you  the  same  sort 
of  fellers  you  be  ?  " 

"  I  reckon  so.    All  men  from  around  home  here." 

"  Put  down  your  guns,  men,  and  hitch  your  horses, 
and  come  up  to-wards  the  fire,  I  want  to  tell  you  all 
I  know." 

It  was  not  strange,  now  that  they  thought  of  it, 
but  it  had  never  occurred  to  them  as  they  fled,  that, 


3o8  Pine  Knot 

while  the  men  who  chased  them  on  foot  and  were 
foremost  after  their  blood  were  the  most  desperate 
characters  in  the  company,  those  who  came  upon  the 
horses  were  those  who,  holding  back  from  the  first 
mad  chase,  had  waited  to  find  their  own  beasts,  and  fol- 
lowing, still  intent  on  an  explanation  and  some  of 
them  on  revenge,  were  less  brutal  and  more  reason- 
able than  the  men  on  foot. 

Renfro  and  Blake  stepped  out  into  the  light. 

"  We're  unarmed,"  said  Blake.  "  Shoot  if  ye  want 
to,  but  hear  us  first." 

"  We  don't  want  to  shoot  nobody,"  said  one  of  the 
party,  "  but  we  want  to  know  whether  it's  so  that 
we've  been  robbed." 

"  I'm  afraid  it  is,"  said  Rehfro.  "  But  it  ain't  no 
person  you're  chasin'  that's  robbed  ye.  We've  been 
robbed  with  the  rest." 

"  Who's  done  it,  then  ?  " 

"  Come  and  se'  down  here,  and  I'll  tell  ye  all  I 
know." 

They  hitched  their  horses  and  came  into  the  fire- 
light, with  faces  dark  and  threatening,  but  curbing 
their  anger  till  they  could  know  it  all. 

"  One  thing  is  certain,"  said  Renfro.  "  Whoever's 
robbed  ye,  it  ain't  Mr.  Buzbee.  They  may  not  be  no 
Mr.  Buzbee  by  this  time,  for  I  ain't  much  idy  that  him 
or  his  wife  either  could  outlive  a  ride  like  we've  took. 
And  he  ain't  said  one  loud  word  that  I've  heerd,  so 
I  ain't  any  right  to  speak  for  him.  But  this  I  know, 
for  I  read  it  in  his  face,  that  that  man's  heart  died 
when  he  seen  that  they  v/a'n't  no  silver  in  that  blast. 
Men,  we've  all  been  fooled,  and  Peleg  Goodwin's  the 
man.    He  put  that  silver  into  the  lead  that  we  cupelled 


The  Plunge  309 

it  with  before,  and  that's  the  only  silver  they  is  or  ever 
was  in  this  mine.  That's  my  honest  opinion.  And 
he's  been  keepin'  the  money  that's  come,  and  dolin' 
out  a  little  bit  for  buildin'  here  and  doin'  somethin' 
there,  and  gittin'  trusted  for  that  when  he  could,  and 
he's  kept  us  all  a-waitin'  till  Mr.  Buzbee  got  home, 
so's  he  could  git  the  last  dollar ;  and  now  he's  run  ofif 
with  the  money,  and  left  the  blame  of  the  failure  to 
come  on  Mr.  Buzbee.  Men,  we've  all  been  fools,  and 
Mr.  Buzbee,  with  all  his  larnin',  has  got  a  fool  streak 
in  him,  but  he's  the  kindest-hearted  fool  God  ever 
made,  and  he  never  wronged  no  man  out  of  a  cent. 
No  more  did  Blake  nor  me." 

"  Wha'  did  ye  run  off  fur,  if  ye  wa'n't  guilty  ?  " 
asked  Crawford. 

"  We  wouldn't  'a'  done  it  if  we'd  been  dealin'  with 
men  like  you.  And  I'll  say  this,  that  even  you  are 
more  reasonable  atter  a  good  hard  ride  and  a  little 
time  to  think.  But  if  they'd  all  been  like  you — men 
from  the  county  here — I'd  'a'  stood  up  like  a  man  and 
told  you  the  truth  as  fur  as  I  knowed  it,  if  you  shot 
me  fur  it.  But  you  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  the  men 
that's  been  workin'  there  is  the  most  bloodthirsty 
devils  that  ever  spent  three  nights  hand  runnin'  out 
of  the  smell  of  brimstone.  And  to  think  of  fallin'  into 
their  hands,  with  no  more  reason  than  so  many  mud 
torkles  and  as  mad  as  so  many  painters,  and  to  think 
of  that  dyin'  woman  and  that  gal — I  done  just  what 
every  one  of  you'd  done,  and  you  know  it.  And  I'll 
say  this  too,  that  whether  it's  all  clear  to  ye  or  not, 
they  ain't  a  man  of  you  but  would  drap  dead  fightin' 
before  he'd  let  that  gal  fall  into  the  hands  of  them  men. 
Ef  I'd  knowed  who  was  ridin'  behind  us,  I'd  'a'  stopped 


3IO  Pine  Knot 

some  distance  back.  Still,  I'd  a  leetle  bit  druther  have 
my  first  word  with  you  over  somebody's  bayonet. — 
Come,  Mr.  Sentinal,  what's  the  meanin'  of  this?  We 
didn't  allow  they  was  ary  reb  nearer  than  the  Gap." 

"  We  marched  through  the  Gap,"  said  the  sentinel. 

"  But  this  ain't  no  road  from  the  Gap." 

"  We  had  a  fight  at  Wild  Cat,  and  have  changed 
our  plan.  That  is  all  T  want  to  say,"  said  the  officer 
of  the  guard.  "  And  now,  if  you  wish  to  see  to  your 
people  in  the  wagon,  pass  through  the  line,  and  camp 
for  the  night.    We  must  keep  the  road  clear." 

"  Come  with  us,"  said  Renfro,  and  the  men  dis- 
mounted and  came  in.  The  wagon  was  some  distance 
along  the  road,  and  a  detail  of  soldiers  went  with  them 
to  it.  Simon  Peter  had  made  a  light,  and  had  tenderly 
lifted  out  the  bruised  body  of  Mrs.  Buzbee,  and  Mr. 
Buzbee  lay  on  the  pallet  close  by,  in  great  pain  of 
body  and  mind. 

"  O  my  daughter !  "  he  cried,  "  what  folly  have  I 
done !  I  have  killed  your  mother ;  I  have  ruined  all 
who  trusted  in  me!  O  my  God!  was  ever  a  soul  so 
guilty  as  I  ?  " 

Barbara  strove  to  comfort  him,  but  unavailingly ; 
and  when  he  saw  the  men  who  had  lost  their  money 
through  tjie  mine,  he  raised  himself  to  his  knees  before 
them  and  said :  "  Forgive  me,  my  friends,  forgive 
me !  I  confess  my  sin  to  you  as  I  do  to  my  God !  I 
have  not  meant  to  wrong  you,  but  I  have  ruined  you ! 
I  have  ruined  you !  " 

"  Now  look  here,  Mr.  Buzbee,"  said  Renfro, 
"  we've  all  made  a  blunder,  that's  plain.  But  I  ain't 
a-goin'  to  hear  you  take  all  the  blame  of  it.  We've 
all  been  fools,  and  one  man's  been  a  thief.     But  we 


The  Plunge  311 

don't  none  of  us  bear  you  no  grudge.  We  know 
you're  a  honest  man." 

"  You  are  too  good — you  are  too  good,"  said  he ; 
and  then :  "  O  my  poor  wife !  My  poor  daughter ! 
God  forgive  me ! "  Then  he  relapsed  into  silence, 
save  for  a  grateful  word  to  Barbara,  who  sat  beside 
him  and  stroked  his  hair. 

"  Git  him  a  tent,"  said  Granny  White  to  the  sol- 
diers, and  they  pitched  a  shelter  tent  over  him.  He 
sank  into  a  stupor,  and  Barbara  sat  beside  him. 

The  men,  with  homely  but  tender  care,  prepared 
a  bed  of  pine  boughs  in  the  wagon,  and  there  laid  out 
the  body  of  Mrs.  Buzbee,  as  they  were  directed  by 
Granny  White.  Then  the  old  woman  returned  to 
share  Barbara's  vigil,  and  at  last  the  thing  that  seemed 
impossible  occurred:  the  long,  hideous  night  turned 
gray  in  the  east,  and  the  sun  rose,  bringing  with  it  a 
new  day. 


CHAPTER   XXXI 
fanatic  or  philanthropist 

"  Barbara  Buzbee  !  " 

She  started  to  hear  her  name. 

"  Boyd  Estill !     How  came  you  here  ?  " 

"  I  came  faster  than  I  should  like  to  admit.  We 
had  a  fight  at  Wild  Cat,  and  the  Yankees  have  the 
field.  But,  Barbara,  I  am  surprised  to  find  you  here. 
I  am  detailed  with  a  guard  to  escort  you  to  Pine  Knot, 
but  I  did  not  know  it  was  you.  Is  your  mother  really 
dead?" 

For  answer  Barbara  bowed  her  face  in  her  hands 
and  wept. 

"  My  poor,  poor  darling !  "  said  Boyd  tenderly. 

"  O  Boyd,"  sobbed  Barbara,  "  I  am  more  glad  to 
see  vou  than  I  can  tell!  I  never  needed  a  friend  so 
much ! " 

"  And  I —  O  Barbara,  I  have  so  much  to  say 
to  you !  " 

They  started  early  and  slowly.  Barbara  rode  with 
her  father  in  an  ambulance,  and  the  wagon  followed 
with  the  body  of  Mrs.  Buzbee.  Renfro,  Blake,  and 
the  men  from  whom  they  had  been  fleeing  rode  behind, 
and  a  guard  commanded  by  Estill  led  the  way.  A 
messenger  was  dispatched  with  a  letter  to  be  mailed 
312 


Fanatic  or  Philanthropist  313 

to  Lexington,  and  it  contained  a  pass  from  General 
Zollicoffer  for  Barbara's  grandfather,  for  they  could 
not  doubt  that  he  would  come  in  this  extremity.  To- 
ward noon  they  drew  up  before  the  door  of  Mr.  Ren- 
fro's,  and  he  and  Simon  Peter  lifted  the  body  of  Mrs. 
Buzbee,  and  the  soldiers  carried  Mr.  Buzbee  into  the 
house  and  laid  him  on  the  bed. 

There  he  lay,  the  man  whose  life  had  been  a  series 
of  failures  and  who  died  to  be  forgotten,  save  by  those 
who  in  after  years  recalled  his  memory  with  a  smile. 
But  it  was  a  great  heart  that  slowly  and  more  slowly 
beat  out  its  last  two  days  of  life  in  the  home  that  had 
first  welcomed  him  to  the  mountains. 

When  the  community  knew  that  he  was  dying, 
they  came  out  with  one  accord  and  stood  about  the 
yard,  and  gathered  in  the  house  and  waited  for  the 
end.  It  was  touching  and  beautiful  to  see  their  anger 
all  forgotten,  and  even  those  who  had  lost  their  little 
all  recalling  his  kindnesses.  Women  rode  far  with 
children  in  their  arms  to  show  the  little  ones  the  man 
who  had  cared  for  them  when  they  were  sick.  Men 
talked  of  the  battle  at  Wild  Cat  and  the  war  that  had 
come  so  near,  and  then  of  the  life  of  this  man.  All 
thought  that  he  had  deceived  them  or  was  other  than 
he  pretended  vanished,  and  popular  wrath,  content 
if  it  finds  some  one  on  whom  to  vent  itself,  concerned 
itself  with  Goodwin,  who  was  safe  enough  from  their 
revenge.  Noel  Davis,  too,  was  missing,  and  there 
were  some  who  believed  that  he  had  gone  to  join 
Goodwin,  and  others  that  he  had  been  shot  at  the  ford 
and  had  gone  over  the  falls.  For  a  good  while  they 
did  not  know  which  was  true,  but  later  in  the  war  he 
appeared  again.     If  he  had  gone  over  the  falls,  the 


314  Pine  Knot 

Union  teamster  whose  wagon  was  plundered  might 
never  have  been  shot,  or  Pine  Knot  burned. 

Mr,  Buzbee  outHved  that  day,  and  toward  evening 
Boyd  Estill  and  his  men  mounted  and  rode  back. 

"  I  have  much  to  say  to  you,  Barbara,"  said  Boyd, 
"  but  I  realize  that  this  is  no  time  to  say  it.  You  will 
go  to  Lexington,  of  course,  and  I  shall  see  you  there. 
Yet,  before  I  let  you  go  I  must  tell  you  that  I  have 
never  ceased  to  love  you." 

"  My  true  friend,"  said  Barbara,  "  you  have  been 
so  good,  so  kind !    I  can  never  repay  you." 

"  But  you  still  love  me  ?  " 

"  O  Boyd,  don't  ask  me.     I'm  afraid  I  don't !  " 

"  Barbara,"  said  he,  "  I  blame  myself.  I  ought 
not  to  have  quarreled  with  you.  And  having  quar- 
reled and  let  you  go,  I  ought  to  have  found  where  you 
were  and  come  to  you.    I  did  not  know  till  lately " 

"  You  could  not  have  come  when  my  need  was 
greater,"  said  she. 

"  But,  Barbara,  surely  you  will  not  send  me  away 
heart-broken  ?  " 

"  O  Boyd,"  she  said,  "  I  fear  you  will  think  me 
ungrateful.  You  have  been  so  kind  to  me,  and  I  care 
for  you  so  much !  You  are  my  own,  my  true  friend, 
my  brother,  my  own  brave,  kind  friend.  Don't  think 
me  fickle,  Boyd,  or  heartless !  I  care  for  you,  indeed 
I  do!  I  shall  never  cease  to  do  so.  But  I  do  not 
love  you.    I'm  sure  I  don't,  though  I  like  you  truly." 

Boyd  stopped  in  amazement.  "  Is  it  because  I  am 
a  rebel  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh  no,  oh  no !    I  could  love  you  in  spite  of  that." 

"  Or  because  I  am  a  slaveholder  ?  " 

Barbara  paused  a  moment  and  said  solemnly :  "  I 


"  I  can   never  repay  you.' 


Fanatic  or  Philanthropist  315 

believe  my  poor  father  was  right  in  this  at  least,  how- 
ever far  he  was  wrong  in  his  other  opinions,  that  this 
war  will  not  end  till  the  slavery  question  is  settled. 
No,  it  is  not  that." 

"  Then,  do  you  love  some  one  else  ?  " 

She  did  not  answer. 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  I — I  have  not  admitted  to  myself  that  I  loved 
him.  At  first  for  another  girl's  sake  I  did  not  let  my- 
self do  so,  and  then  for  your  sake  I  tried  to  force  him 
from  my  heart." 

"  He  does  not  know  that  you  love  him  ?  " 

"  No.    He  has  no  hope  of  it." 

"  Then,  O  Barbara,  give  me  one  more  chance ! 
Try  once  more  to  love  me,  and  let  me  show  myself 
worthy !  I  will  match  myself  against  him !  Tell  me 
what  you  love  him  for,  and  by  all  that  I  hold  dear  I 
will  outvie  him!  Is  he  wiser,  kinder,  richer?  I  shall 
make  up  what  I  lack,  and  come  back  to  you ! " 

"  Oh  no,  it  is  not  that.  Boyd,  you  are  twice  as 
handsome  as  he,  and  your  education  is  far  better.  And 
no  man  is  a  truer  gentleman  than  you !  But  he  is  as 
true,  and  I  have  seen  him  struggling  to  conquer  his 
own  passion,  struggling  to  overcome  his  own  igno- 
rance, struggling  with  the  disadvantages  of  his  early 
life  and  showing  his  true  manhood,  and  loving  with 
no  hope  of  return,  he  does  not  know  it  yet,  but  I  tell 
you — I  love  him,  Boyd.  So,  do  not  blame  me,  but  be 
my  friend  still  as  you  have  always  been,  my  truest, 
best  friend,  except " 

"Except ?" 

"  Except  James  Fletcher." 

Boyd  struggled  for  a  time  with  his  own  feelings. 


3i6  Pine  Knot 

Then  he  offered  her  his  hand.  She  took  it,  and  he 
placed  his  other  arm  around  her  waist  and  kissed  her. 

"Good-by,  Barbara,"  he  said  huskily.  "  God  for- 
give me  for  letting  you  go  away  till  we  had  made  up 
our  quarrel,  and  I  had  made  you  mine!  Good-by. 
We  still  are  friends,  that's  all  I  have  to  say.  But  this 
man  Fletcher,  is  he  in  the  army  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  she,  "  in  the  Federal  army." 

"  We  may  meet  some  time ! "  he  said  savagely. 
"  No,  no ! "  he  added,  "  I  ought  not  to  grieve  you  so. 
Good-by.  If  he  loves  you  more  than  I  do,  he  deserves 
you.  But  I  shall  love  you  still.  O  Barbara,  I  know 
better  than  ever  before  how  much  I  love  you !  Good- 
by,  Barbara." 

"  Good-by,  Boyd." 

"  Looky  here !  "  said  Granny  White  as  Boyd  rode 
off,  "  you  didn't  send  that  young  feller  away,  did  ye  ?  " 

"  He  had  to  go,"  said  Barbara.  "  He  was  under 
orders." 

"  Yes,  but  that  ain't  what  I  mean.  He's  the  feller, 
hain't  he?" 

"  You  mean " 

"  The  one  I  tied  the  thread  'round  the  coffee  grain 
fur?" 

"  I'm  afraid  he  is,  granny," 

"  And  you  don't  mean  to  say  you've  let  him  slip  ?  " 

"  Yes,  granny,  I've  let  him  slip." 

"  Call  him  back !  call  him  back ! "  cried  granny. 

"  No,  no,  granny !  Besides,  it's  too  late.  He's 
gone." 

"  What  a  pity !  what  a  pity !  "  said  granny. 

"  But,  granny,  I  do  not  love  him !  " 

"  Ye  do,  too !      The  foolishness  of  a  gal's  talk ! 


Fanatic  or  Philanthropist  317 

You  jist  thought  ye  keered  for  the  preacher  because 
you  was  sorter  homesick  Uke  and  he  was  clost  handy ! 
I  know  you  had  a  sorter  admiration  for  him,  but  if  ever 
I'd  a-seed  this  one,  I  could  'a'  told  ye  which  one  ye 
loved ! " 

"  You  seem  to  think  you  know  better  than  I  do," 
said  Barbara. 

"  Sartin  I  do,  and  some  day  you'll  know  I  do,"  said 
granny.  "  But  they  ain't  but  one  thing  to  do  now, 
and  that's  to  take  keer  of  your  pappy.  He  was  a  good 
man,  honey,  for  all  he  had  so  little  sense." 

It  was  several  days  before  Barbara's  grandfather 
arrived,  and  when  he  came,  it  was  all  over.  Mr.  Buz- 
bee  never  rallied  save  for  a  moment  or  two  at  a  time, 
when  his  self-reproachful  words  and  looks  made  even 
his  stupor  a  relief.  But  at  the  end  there  came  a  brief 
interval  of  light  and  peace,  and  he  drew  his  daughter 
down  and  kissed  her,  saying :  "  God  bless  you,  my  dear ! 
You  have  been  a  heroine  through  it  all."  And  then 
came  the  end. 

It  was  a  simple  burial,  with  two  coffins  made  of 
planed  pine  boards,  covered  on  the  outside  with  black 
muslin  and  inside  with  white,  and  the  sound  of  the  ham- 
mer just  outside  smote  hard  on  the  heart  of  Barbara. 
But  unnumbered  acts  of  kindness  from  the  people 
about  brought  real  comfort.  There  was  no  time  for 
a  funeral,  nor  was  it  expected,  according  to  the  custom 
of  the  country,  nor  had  Barbara  the  heart  for  it ;  but  an 
unlettered  mountain  preacher,  with  tears  streaming 
down  his  face,  knelt  in  the  clay  beside  the  grave,  and 
prayed  for  the  orphan  daughter.  Then  Granny  White 
and  Liberty  led  her  away,  and  the  earth  closed  above 
the  double  g:rave. 


3i8  Pine  Knot 

It  is  not  easy  to  gather  incidents  of  war  time  in  the 
Cumberland  Mountains.  The  multitude  of  incidents 
so  trampled  on  each  other  that  they  were  reduced  to 
an  indistinguishable  mass.  People  occasionally  begin 
to  talk  to  their  children  about  those  days,  and  feel  as  if 
they  were  talking  of  other  people,  and  so  cease.  More- 
over, it  was  impossible  for  them  to  idealize  the  war. 
The  world  said,  "  Yonder  is  the  soldier,  the  hero." 
The  mountaineer  said,  "  Yonder  is  the  man  who 
shoots  our  hogs  and  burns  our  fences  and  robs  our 
smoke  houses."  The  world  said,  "  There  is  the  man 
who  for  his  country's  sake  braves  death  itself."  The 
mountaineer  said,  "Yonder  is  the  man  whom  I  saw 
skulking,  till  he  found  a  tree  to  shoot  from."  The 
world  said,  "  Yonder  are  war's  awful  pomp  and  glory." 
The  mountaineer  said,  "  Here  are  the  carnage,  the  mur- 
der, the  starvation,  the  heartless  cruelty,  the  unspeak- 
able inhumanity."  And  so  the  scenes  that  for  want  of 
idealization  could  never  become  poetry  or  art  or  song 
were  blended  into  one  black  terror.  One  may  not  step 
from  a  train  as  it  whirls  through  among  those  moun- 
tains, and  accosting  the  first  man  he  meets,  draw  on 
his  fund  of  incident.  He  must  find  it  in  the  chance 
remarks  and  in  the  talk  by  the  way.  But  there  are 
some  scenes  that  are  remembered  by  a  few  here  and 
there,  and  there  are  those  people  who  still  sigh  when 
they  recall  that  double  grave  with  the  background 
of  the  first  battle  near  at  hand  that  seemed  to  number 
these  twain  among  its  list  of  the  slain.  They  are  scat- 
tered now,  and  none  live  near  the  spot  or  visit  the 
grave,  but  through  the  distance  in  space  and  time  they 
still  see  the  grief  of  the  brave  young  girl  whose  father 
and  mother  lay  there  side  by  side. 


Fanatic  or  Philanthropist  319 

It  was  a  simple  thing  in  its  way,  but  it  touched 
Barbara  to  the  heart,  when  the  neighbors  prepared  a 
pair  of  wooden  headstones  and  marked  them  with  the 
juice  of  the  pokeberry,  as  he  had  showed  them  how  to 
make  the  blackboard.  They  asked  for  the  dates  of 
her  parents'  birth,  and  when  she  went  next  to  the 
graves  they  bore  these  inscriptions : 

JOHN    HOWARD   BUZBEE, 
Philanthropist. 
B.  Jan.  23,  1800. 
D.  Oct.  24,  1861. 

MARY   BERNAUGH, 

Wife  of  J.  Howard  Buzbee. 

B.  July  3,  1808. 

D.  Oct.  22,  1861. 

"  John  Howard  Buzbee,  Philanthropist !  "  It  was 
a  grateful  tribute  suggested  by  Renfro,  and  it  com- 
forted Barbara  that  they  should  have  thought  to  add 
that  one  word.  Then  she  reflected  somewhat  bitterly 
that  the  world  at  large  would  have  said  "  Fanatic." 

But  it  matters  little  what  is  said  upon  a  tombstone. 
Long  ere  it  would  have  rotted,  the  artillery  wheels 
had  broken  it  down,  and  the  world  knows  not  which 
word  was  there.  After  all,  the  difference  may  not  be 
so  great.  History  has  been  busy  with  suggestions  that 
philanthropist  is  but  fanatic  writ  large. 


CHAPTER   XXXII 

IN    LEXINGTON 

The  Bernaugh  homestead  was  old  and  spacious, 
and  there  was  plenty  of  room  in  it  for  the  grand- 
daughter whom  the  old  man  brought  home  from  the 
hills. 

"  And  now,  Barbara,"  he  said,  "  this  is  your  home, 
yours  now,  and  yours  when  I  die.  I  drove  your 
mother  from  it — God  forgive  me!  No  wrong  that 
you  can  ever  do  shall  ever  make  you  other  than  mine 
or  this  home  any  one's  but  yours.  Your  grand- 
mother's legacy  is  untouched,  and  is  already  yours. 
And  you  must  not  leave  me,  my  child.  These  are  hard 
times  in  which  we  are  living.  I  do  not  see  the  end. 
But  together  we  will  stay  till  I  leave  you  for  good 
and  all." 

"  I  will  not  leave  you,  grandfather,"  said  Barbara. 
"  I  will  stay  with  you.  And,  O  grandpa,  there  is  one 
thing  I  want  to  speak  about.  Forgive  me  if  I  ought 
not.  But  if  I  have  any  money  in  my  own  right,  may 
I  have  at  once  a  few  hundred  dollars  of  it  now  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  want  of  it  ?  "  asked  her  grandfather. 
"  No  crazy  abolition  scheme,  I  hope  ?    Anything  but 
that !    Let  not  that  come  between  us,  as  it  did  between 
me  and  my  daughter ! " 
320 


In  Lexington  321 

"  No,  no,  grandpa,  it  is  not  that,"  said  Barbara. 
"  But  I  want  to  repay  some  of  the  stockholders  in  the 
mine — not  the  rich  ones  or  the  ones  far  away  who  can 
spare  it,  nor  those  who  themselves  were  the  plunderers 
of  others,  but  the  good  mountain  people  who,  trust- 
ing my  father,  and  infatuated  with  the  prospect  of 
money,  sold  their  cows  or  mortgaged  their  homes  for 
a  few  dollars  to  buy  a  little  of  the  stock.  They  are  not 
many,  and  their  stock  was  not  paid  in  full." 

"  Can  you  get  me  a  list  of  them  ? "  asked  her  grand- 
father. 

"  Mr.  Renfro  can  furnish  it,  and  the  sums  paid." 

"  Get  it,"  said  the  old  man,  "  and  I  will  do  the  rest." 

She  flung  herself  on  her  knees  before  him  and 
thanked  him  with  streaming  eyes. 

"  No,  no,  my  child !  Not  that !  Come,  sit  on  my 
knee  instead,  and  be  your  mother  over  again.  I  am 
a  lonely  old  man,  my  dear,  and  all  of  hope  which  I 
have  in  life  gathers  about  you.  No,  no,  don't  cry. 
Or,  well,  run  along  and  have  it  out,  then.  I'm  a  little 
bit  unnerved  myself." 

Of  one  duty  Barbara  felt  sure.  She  ought  to  notify 
James  Fletcher  of  her  changed  address.  She  owed 
it  to  him  for  his  kindness  to  invite  him  to  call,  even 
if  that  were  all — and  that  was  not  all,  she  was  very 
sure.  He  was  at  Camp  Nelson,  probably ;  if  not,  a 
letter  addressed  there  would  be  forwarded  to  him.  So 
she  sat  down  and  wrote  a  simple  note : 

"  Dear  Mr.  Fletcher  :  I  write  to  inform  you  of 
the  death  of  my  dear  parents,  and  the  great  sorrow 
which  their  loss  has  brought  to  me.  My  home  is  now 
with  my  grandfather,  Mr.  William  Bernaugh,  at  Lex- 


322  Pine  Knot 

ington.     If  you  have  a  furlough  and  are  able  to  visit 
me  here,  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you,  and  my  grand- 
father will  welcome  you  to  our  home, 
"  Sincerely  yours, 

"  Barbara  Buzbee. 
"  Lexington,  Ky.,  November  /,  1861." 

The  times  were  big  with  destiny  then,  and  every 
day  brought  forth  its  surprise.  The  Kentucky  Legis- 
lature, grown  more  strongly  Union  under  Lincoln's 
tolerant  attitude,  brought  over  a  few  more  hesi- 
tating votes  on  the  day  when  Zollicolifer  marched 
through  Cumberland  Gap,  and  Pope,  on  the  same 
day,  moved  another  Confederate  army  across  the  Mis- 
sissippi and  encamped  in  Kentucky.  The  Legisla- 
ture demanded  the  recall  of  the  troops.  The  Con- 
federates replied  that  they  would  withdraw  if  the 
Union  forces  were  withdrawn.  But  the  Legislature, 
secure  in  its  contention  that  the  Union  troops  were 
native  Kentuckians  or  Tennessee  refugees  fled  to  their 
sister  State  for  protection,  and  that  there  was  not  an 
invading  soldier  among  them,  refused  to  order  the 
Union  soldiers  out,  and  repeated  its  demand  on  the 
Confederates. 

The  Governor  vetoed  the  bill,  because  it  did  not 
demand  the  same  of  both  armies,  and  the  Legislature 
passed  it  over  his  veto.  It  was  by  the  hardest  that  they 
made  themselves  secure  in  their  two-thirds  majority 
that  enabled  them  to  defy  the  Governor.  To  do  it 
they  had  to  rely  on  one  man  whose  constituents  had 
ordered  him  to  support  the  Governor,  The  member 
who  defied  his  constituents  knew  that  he  could  never 
return  to  his  home  among  them,  and  he  was  guarded 


In  Lexington  323 

day  and  night  by  his  associates  to  prevent  his  assassi- 
nation. 

Those  were  stirring  times  indeed,  but  the  two- 
thirds  majority  held ;  the  Governor  was  shorn  of  his 
power ;  the  sentiment  of  the  State,  sadly  divided,  grad- 
ually rallied  to  the  support  of  the  Legislature.  And 
then  came  the  final  and  dramatic  act.  Neutrality  had 
had  its  day.  The  men  who  had  adopted  it  were  hoist 
with  their  own  petard.  Now,  with  two  Confederate 
armies  encamped  upon  their  soil,  and  refusing  to  with- 
draw, all  pretense  of  neutrality  was  at  an  end.  The 
loyal  faction  of  the  Legislature  had  tested  its  power 
till  it  knew  that  it  was  secure,  and  then,  passing  their 
measure  over  the  Governor's  veto,  they  invited  the 
Federal  Government  to  send  in  troops  to  drive  out 
the  invaders,  and,  declaring  the  loyalty  of  the  State 
to  the  Union,  pledged  themselves  to  keep  her  there. 
On  that  day,  by  authority  of  the  Legislature,  the 
Union  flag  was  run  up  on  the  State-house  at  Frankfort, 
and  it  never  afterward  came  down. 

All  this  Mr.  Bernaugh  and  his  friend  Estill  talked 
about  as  they  visited  back  and  forth  almost  daily,  and 
each  of  them  talked  it  over  with  Barbara,  and  each 
of  them  counted  her  a  daughter.  The  old  men  were 
both  for  the  Union,  but  their  hearts  were  heavy  when 
they  heard  how  Zollicofifer  was  defeated  and  killed 
at  Mill  Spring,  and  his  army  dispersed. 

Then  Barbara's  heart  went  down,  too.  Boyd  was 
with  ZollicofTer.  Had  he  escaped,  or  was  he  killed  or 
captured?  Day  by  day  she  watched  the  avenue  that 
led  down  to  the  pike ;  night  after  night  she  lay  awake 
and  listened  and  prayed  for  Boyd's  safety. 

After  a  fortnight  the  word  came.    He  had  escaped 


324  Pine  Knot  "" 

to  Knoxville,  but  his  brigade  was  cut  to  pieces  be- 
yond hope  of  reorganization,  and  he  was  going  into 
another  regiment.  Then  they  thanked  God  and  took 
courage,  and  with  divided  sympathies,  with  prayers 
for  the  success  of  the  men  of  the  North  and  for  the 
safety  of  the  men  of  the  South,  they  watched  the  prog- 
ress of  the  war. 

If  ever  an  angel  came  into  a  home,  or  two  homes 
at  once,  for  that  matter,  it  was  Barbara  Buzbee,  who 
at  this  time  belonged  almost  as  much  in  one  home 
as  the  other.  Neither  of  the  old  men  asked  her  ques- 
tions about  Boyd;  they  knew  that  she  had  seen  him, 
that  he  had  come  to  her  help  in  time  of  need,  and 
they  assumed  that  the  whole  affair  was  settled.  In 
ways  so  indefinite  and  unconscious  that  she  could 
not  contradict  them — and  she  had  hardly  the  heart 
to  do  it,  anyway — they  planned  under  her  very  eyes  for 
a  future  which  centered  around  her  and  Boyd. 

Day  by  day  Barbara  found  herself  more  absorbed 
in  the  hopes  and  plans  of  the  two  old  men ;  their  love 
of  the  Union,  their  pride  and  sorrow  for  Kentucky, 
their  glowing  admiration  of  Lincoln,  and  their  anxiety 
for  Boyd.  Often  she  thought  of  Fletcher,  and  won- 
dered why  he  had  not  responded  to  her  letter,  but 
more  and  more  completely  she  ran  her  life  and  hope 
into  the  mold  made  for  them  by  her  grandfather  and 
Mr.  Estill. 

Indeed,  in  that  distracted  time,  the  two  old  men 
had  but  two  things  left  to  hope  for — the  saving  of 
the  Union  and  the  happiness  of  "  our  boy  and 
girl." 

"  In  vain  is  the  net  spread  in  the  sight  of  any 
bird  " ;  yet  Barbara  saw  the  old  men  weaving  about 


In  Lexington  325 

her  the  net  of  their  fondest  hopes,  and  she  had  not  the 
heart  to  break  it. 

"  Barbara,"  said  her  grandfather,  "  you  ought  to 
be  twins.  There  are  too  few  of  you  to  go  round.  Pap 
Estill  is  that  selfish  he  wants  you  all  the  time ;  and 
I — Lord  bless  you,  my  dear,  you  are  your  mother 
and  your  grandmother  and  your  own  dear  self  all 
in  one  to  me.  But  it's  a  bit  lonely  for  you  here  with 
us  two  old  men  playing  battledoor  and  shuttlecock 
with  you." 

"  Dear  grandpa,"  said  Barbara,  "  I  am  very  happy 
with  you.  Yet  I  do  wish  I  had  a  friend.  You  saw 
my  friend  Liberty  Preston  when  you  were  at  Pine 
Knot.  I  want  her  to  come  and  visit  me.  Things  are 
in  a  bad  way  there  since  Mill  Spring  battle,  and 
it  will  do  her  good  to  come.  Besides,  I  want 
her." 

"  Send  for  her  right  away.  Write,  and  say  that 
if  she  can  come  I  will  send  for  her  with  horses.  And 
I'll  send  you  and  the  carriage  to  Crab  Orchard  to 
meet  her.    That's  as  far  as  the  pike  goes." 

"  I  remember  very  well  how  far  the  pike  goes," 
said  Barbara. 

"  Tell  her  to  come  by  Somerset,  the  road  will  be 
better  that  way  now." 

So  Liberty  came  on  a  visit  of  indefinite  length, 
and  the  two  girls  had  a  happy  ride  together  in  the 
carriage  from  Crab  Orchard. 

Liberty  brought  new  life  to  the  home  of  the  Ber- 
naughs.  A  girl  of  natural  refinement,  she  quickly 
adjusted  herself  to  the  new  conditions,  and  her  ward- 
robe was  not  long  in  assuming  a  new  appearance.  It 
would  have  been  difficult  to  tell,  save  for  an  occasional 


326  Pine  Knot 

lapse  in  speech,  which  was  the  mountain  and  which 
the  blue-grass  girl ;  and  Liberty  set  herself  to  learn  and 
gain  as  much  as  possible  from  the  experience.  But 
she  was  loyal  to  the  mountains,  and  it  did  both  the 
old  men  good  to  hear  her  uncompromising  mountain 
loyalty  to  the  Federal  cause. 

Cheered  by  her  presence,  Barbara  grew  to  her 
old  self.  The  memories  of  hardship  and  bereave- 
ment remained,  but  receded  into  the  background. 
Back  and  forth  the  two  girls  moved  between  the 
old  homes,  singing  as  they  went,  the  slaves  run- 
ning to  wait  upon  them,  and  the  old  men  mak- 
ing their  excursions  the  excuse  for  more  frequent 
visits.  But  over  it  all  hung  the  black  shadow  of 
the  war, 

"  I  never  hear  you  sing  *  Skip-t'-m'-loo  '  now,"  said 
Barbara.    "  Why  have  you  stopped  ?  " 

"  You've  stopped,  too,"  said  Liberty. 

"  It  was  not  I  who  sang  it,"  said  Barbara. 

"  But  it's  you  that's  done  it,"  said  Liberty. 

"Done  what?" 

"  You've  '  got  another  one,  skip-t'-m'-loo  ' !  " 

"  Liberty  Preston  !  " 

"  Now  look  here,  Barbara  Buzbee !  I'm  done  fool- 
ing with  you.  You're  in  love  with  Boyd  Estill,  and 
what's  more  you've  always  been,  if  you'd  only  had 
sense  enough  to  have  known  it.  But  if  you  don't 
look  out  you'll  lose  him,  that's  what!  And  I  serve 
notice  on  you  right  now  that  while  I'm  not  going 
out  to  hunt  up  any  man  living,  you're  not  going 
to  have  Jim  Fletcher,  and  you  don't  want  him, 
either." 

"  But  I've  refused  Boyd." 


In  Lexington 


327 


"  Well,  you  did  a  foolish  thing,  that's  all.  Now, 
don't  you  break  these  old  men's  hearts  telling  them 
about  it,  for  that  don't  count.  He'll  come  back  some 
day.  He  won't  hold  you  accountable  for  what  you 
did  then.    But  he  won't  come  many  times." 


22 


CHAPTER   XXXIII 

what's  in  a  name? 

James  Fletcher  was  a  good  soldier.  He  carried 
his  gun  patiently,  he  fought  on  the  field  heroically.  No 
duty  was  too  hard  for  him,  and  he  offered  himself  for 
services  from  which  other  men  shrank.  Some  men 
said  it  was  his  religion ;  others  that  he  had  been  crossed 
in  love.  But  he  was  not  morbid  or  misanthropic.  No 
man  was  more  cheerful,  even  when  cheerfulness  was 
hardest ;  still,  there  was  in  his  life  an  undertone  of  sad- 
ness, as  of  a  man  who  had  come  up  against  his  im- 
passable barrier. 

Impassable  it  was,  for  he  had  no  hope  of  winning 
Barbara  Buzbee.  But  he  enshrined  her  image  in  his 
heart — that  is,  he  enshrined  an  image  there  which  he 
called  Barbara  Buzbee,  and  carefully  differentiated  it, 
for  conscience'  sake,  from  the  real  Barbara.  There 
were  two  Barbara  Buzbees  he  told  himself;  one  of 
them  had  refused  him,  and  was  engaged  to  another 
man — her  words  could  mean  nothing  else — and  her  he 
must  not  love.  But  there  was  another  Barbara  Buz- 
bee, the  ideal  Barbara,  whom  he  cherished  as  an  ideal. 

It  was  a  rather  fine  discrimination,  no  doubt;  but 
it  served  its  end.  It  gave  a  name  to  Fletcher's  ideal ; 
it  made  it  lawful  for  him  to  cherish  memories  which 
328 


What's  in  a  Name  ?  329 

else  he  must  have  counted  sinful,  and  it  gave  him  the 
slightest  basis  for  a  hope.  It  was  just  a  little  less  than 
possible  that  her  words  had  some  other  meaning ;  and 
then,  there's  many  a  slip;  if  anything  should  happen 
that  Barbara  Buzbee — the  real  flesh-and-blood  Bar- 
bara— did  not  marry  some  other  man,  it  was  just  pos- 
sible that  he  still  might  win  her.  Sometimes  he  ad- 
mitted as  much  to  himself.  But  for  the  most  part  he 
lived  in  the  light  of  the  ideal  Barbara. 

So  it  was  when  the  critical  hour  arrived  before  Fort 
Donelson,  the  hour  that  determined  the  future  of  the 
commanding  general  as  well  as  of  the  battle.  The 
Union  right  had  been  forced  back  by  the  desperate 
effort  of  the  Confederates  to  break  open  a  line  of  re- 
treat, and  the  boys  from  the  Prairie  State  who  had 
borne  the  burden  of  the  attack  right  manfully  were 
retreating,  and  even  brave  Dick  Oglesby  and  intrepid 
John  A.  Logan  were  recalling  their  broken  regiments 
— in  that  hour  when  Grant  suddenly  changed  his  plan 
and  ordered  the  lost  ground  to  be  retaken,  and  Lew 
Wallace  swung  out  from  the  center  to  support  the 
right,  there  was  not  a  braver  man  among  those  who 
rushed  to  the  charge  than  James  Fletcher.  Shivering 
in  the  chill  wind  and  wet  with  the  past  night's  cruel 
sleet — for  he  had  given  his  overcoat  to  a  wounded 
man — shouting  with  his  camp-meeting  voice  in  echo 
of  the  rebel  yell,  struggling  through  the  entangled 
tree  tops,  wading  through  the  miry  clay,  close  beside 
the  flag  and  never  behind  it,  James  Fletcher  went. 

There  at  the  mouth  of  the  cannon  and  against  the 
bristling  bayonets  straight  to  the  top  of  the  hill  he 
stood,  striking  right  and  left  with  his  gunstock.  Hurl- 
ing a  rebel  gunner  headlong  as  he  was  about  to  fire, 


330  Pine  Knot 

he  grasped  the  flag  as  it  fell  from  the  hand  of  the 
wounded  color  sergeant  and  planted  it  on  the  mud- 
and-log  breastwork.  Some  men  thought  he  was  try- 
ing to  get  killed.  But  he  was  not.  Straight  through 
the  smoke  of  that  battle  he  had  followed  the  flag,  his 
sense  of  duty,  and  the  vision  of  Barbara  Buzbee. 

When  it  was  over,  he  rescued  the  wounded  color 
bearer  and  hung  the  flag  above  him  in  the  rude  field 
hospital.  When  the  roll  was  called  next  day,  and  the 
thinned  but  proud  regiment  was  falling  in  to  receive 
the  surrender,  the  captain  of  his  company  walked  down 
the  line  and  in  the  presence  of  them  all  told  James 
Fletcher  that  he  was  the  bravest  man  in  the  regiment. 

The  men  were  under  a  new  commander — a  quiet, 
modest  man,  who  wore  little  gold  braid,  and  who 
smoked  his  cigar  in  a  keen  scrutiny  of  affairs  and  with 
a  dogged  determination.  The  soldiers  dififered  in  their 
estimate  of  his  abilities.  But  when  Fort  Donelson 
yielded  to  his  demand  for  an  "  unconditional  surren- 
der," the  soldiers  got  a  clew  to  the  meaning  of  his 
initials,  "  U.  S.  Grant."  Opinion  concerning  him  be- 
came more  nearly  a  unit  then,  and  the  soldiers  followed 
him  south  to  Shiloh  and  to  victory,  and  then  on  to 
Appomattox  and  to  the  coming  of  peace. 

It  had  been  a  long  and  weary  winter,  full  of  dis- 
couragement and  distress.  And  the  substantial  vic- 
tories of  January  and  April  had  later  to  be  won  over 
again.  For,  in  the  summer,  when  the  line  of  the  Con- 
federacy had  been  pushed  far  South,  and  Nashville  and 
Island  Number  Ten  had  been  captured,  there  came, 
through  incredible  blundering,  that  sudden  series  of 
backsets  culminating  in  the  invasion  of  Kentucky. 
The  Union  army  that  had  captured  Cumberland  Gap 


What's  in  a  Name?  331 

gave  it  up  again,  and  hastened  toward  the  Ohio  River, 
and  Kirby  Smith  threw  his  seasoned  regiments 
through  the  mountain  passes  and  entered  the  blue- 
grass  region  near  Richmond,  Kentucky. 

Fletcher  was  back  in  Kentucky  with  his  regiment, 
one  of  a  few  regiments  of  seasoned  troops  to  sprinkle 
among  the  raw  recruits  that  made  up  Nelson's  army 
of  defense,  and  he  was  in  the  line  of  skirmishers  sent 
out  to  the  Big  Hill  to  dispute  the  way,  and  then  to 
fall  back  toward  the  Kentucky  River ;  for  Nelson  had 
chosen  his  own  battle  ground,  and  would  meet  the 
enemy  with  the  river  between,  and  fight  from  his  well- 
planned  intrenchments  on  the  bluffs. 

The  soldiers  understood  that  this  was  the  plan  of 
the  battle,  and  nothing  could  have  surprised  them 
more  than  to  find  as  they  fell  back  that  General  Man- 
son  had  marched  out  from  Richmond  to  meet  the  in- 
vaders and  to  give  them  battle  in  the  open  field. 

What  would  have  happened  if  Nelson  had  carried 
out  his  plan  may  only  be  conjectured.  But  what 
actually  happened  was  the  absolute  annihilation  of  the 
Federal  command.  In  no  other  battle  of  the  war  was 
an  army  so  utterly  wiped  from  the  earth  as  in  that  of 
Richmond. 

It  was  a  Saturday,  and  no  one  was  expecting 
the  fight  that  day.  The  Legislature  was  in  session  at 
Frankfort,  secure  in  its  belief  that  Nelson's  defenses 
at  the  river  were  strong,  and  on  Saturday  night  it 
adjourned  without  concern,  to  meet  at  the  usual  hour 
on  Monday,  On  Sunday  morning  the  members  rushed 
into  the  bedroom  of  Speaker  Burnam,  crying :  "  There 
has  been  a  battle,  and  we  are  defeated !  Kirby  Smith 
is  marching  toward  Frankfort!     Cincinnati  is  in  dan- 


332  Pine  Knot 

ger,  and  the  whole  North !  He  will  establish  a  base 
of  supplies  on  the  Ohio  River,  and  cut  the  country 
in  two  from  the  Ohio  to  the  lakes !  " 

The  hastily  dressed  members  gathered  in  the  State- 
house,  and  the  Speaker's  gavel  stilled  the  noise  on 
the  floor.  "  The  House  will  come  to  order !  We  must 
reconsider  and  rescind  the  vote  of  last  night  adjourn- 
ing till  Monday,  and  cause  the  record  to  show  ad- 
journment to  Sunday  morning."  It  was  done  accord- 
ingly. "  The  reading  of  the  record  will  be  omitted. 
It  is  moved  and  seconded  that  we  do  now  adjourn, 
to  meet  to-morrow  at  the  usual  hour,  and  in  Louis- 
ville."   The  action  was  quickly  adopted. 

Then  followed  a  scene  of  confusion.  A  special 
train  was  ordered,  and  it  drew  up  a  long  line  of  freight 
cars.  The  State  records,  the  archives,  and  the  docu- 
ments of  the  Legislature  were  bundled  into  wagons 
and  loaded  into  the  cars.  The  money  from  the  State 
Treasury  was  similarly  transported  to  the  train  and 
loaded  under  guard.  All  the  morning  and  afternoon 
they  labored  to  carry  all  that  was  of  greatest  value 
beyond  the  reach  of  the  Confederate  army. 

The  train  pulled  out  in  the  twilight,  and  arrived  in 
Louisville  in  the  night.  Next  morning  the  Legisla- 
ture unpacked  itself  and  held  its  session  in  a  peri- 
patetic fashion  in  Louisville. 

The  whole  North  was  in  terror,  as  it  had  good 
reason  to  be.  The  danger  that  all  along  had  threat- 
ened the  nation  at  the  East,  and  which,  but  for  the 
loyalty  of  Kentucky,  would  have  menaced  the  Middle 
States  all  through  the  war,  was  suddenly  at  hand.  Nor 
was  the  terror  wholly  dispelled  till  October  when 
the  battle  of  Perryville — an  ill-managed  battle,  and 


What's  in  a  Name  ?  333 

a  meager  victory — drove  the  Confederates  from  the 
State. 

It  was  at  Richmond,  in  August,  that  Fletcher  again 
distinguished  himself.  His  regiment  was  so  scattered 
that  he  could  hardly  find  a  man  whom  he  knew,  and 
all  about  him  were  raw  troops,  undisciplined  and 
poorly  commanded,  driven  like  sheep  before  the  ruth- 
less and  well-trained  foe.  When  Nelson  arrived  on 
the  field,  called  to  the  scene  by  the  unexpected  sound 
of  battle,  his  curses  were  loud  and  deep  and  unavail- 
ing.   He  could  not  rally  the  disorganized  army. 

Fletcher  was  making  his  way  from  the  field,  and 
one  of  the  last  to  leave  it,  when  a  wounded  man  in  a 
fence  corner  caused  him  to  turn  aside,  and  he  recog- 
nized his  colonel. 

"  Come,  colonel,"  he  cried,  "  let  me  help  you  out 
of  here." 

"  You  can't  do  it,"  said  the  colonel.  "  I'm  sure  to 
be  captured,  and  so  are  you  if  you  stop.  Save  your- 
self while  there  is  time !  " 

But  Fletcher  got  him  up  on  his  own  strong  back, 
the  blood  from  the  colonel's  wound  dripping  warm 
along  his  arm  and  hand,  and  so  he  carried  him,  under 
fire,  till  a  flanking  party  intercepted  him  and  they 
were  both  made  prisoners.  The  colonel  was  sent  to 
the  hospital,  where  his  wound  kept  him  till  after  the 
battle  of  Perryville,  and  so  he  recovered  his  freedom. 
But  Fletcher  went  south  to  Tuscaloosa  Prison. 

And  so  time  passed  on  till  one  day,  in  the  spring 
of  1863,  Fletcher's  time  had  expired,  and  his  regi- 
ment was  almost  disbanded,  though  he  learned  that 
efforts  were  making  to  recruit  it  again  to  fighting 
strength.    How  gladly  would  he  enlist  again,  he  said 


334  Pine  Knot 

to  himself  bitterly,  if  only  he  were  out  of  here !  Yet, 
in  the  prison  he  had  found  his  mission,  and  on  its 
grim  walls  he  hung  the  mental  picture  of  the  ideal 
Barbara.  Noting  how  quickly  the  loss  of  self-respect 
broke  men  down,  he  laboured  to  keep  the  prisoners 
about  him  clean,  to  reduce  to  a  minimum  the  vermin 
that  infested  the  place,  and  to  keep  up  the  courage  and 
cheer  of  his  comrades.  What  hope  it  was  that  kept 
him  up  none  knew,  and  he  could  only  have  told  that 
it  was  the  desire  for  the  approval  of  his  God  and  of 
fidelity  to  the  ideal  of  Barbara  Buzbee. 

It  was  a  disagreeable  duty,  and  one  which  they 
hated,  but  a  certain  Kentucky  regiment  in  the  Con- 
federate army  had  seen  hard  service  in  several  cam- 
paigns, and  was  assigned  for  a  time  to  guard  duty  at 
the  prison.  One  night  there  came  an  order  for  a  de- 
tail to  be  exchanged,  and  it  fell  to  Captain  Boyd  Estill 
— he  was  a  captain  now — to  make  out  the  roll.  There 
were  certain  papers  on  file,  reports  as  to  the  condition 
of  this  man  and  that,  with  reasons  given  by  the  sur- 
geon or  others  why  such  and  such  a  man  should  be 
exchanged  soon,  and  from  these  he  made  his  first 
choices.  There  were  others  to  be  chosen,  and  he  ran 
his  eye  over  the  long  list  of  names,  wondering  upon 
what  principle  he  should  make  his  selection.  Sud- 
denly a  name  struck  his  sight,  and  his  breath  came 
quick  and  fast — ^James  Fletcher,  and  his  regiment  and 
company.  There  could  hardly  be  a  doubt  about  it. 
The  regiment  was  a  mountain  regiment,  and  the  State 
was  Kentucky. 

Boyd  Estill  tipped  back  in  his  chair  again,  and  shut 
his  eyes  and  thought.  Here  was  his  opportunity,  he 
said  to  himself,  and  why  should  he  not  improve  it? 


What's  in  a  Name?  335 

He  would  not  harm  the  man,  he  would  simply  leave 
him.  Why  should  he  send  him  out,  and  leave  another 
man  in,  perhaps  equally  deserving  ? 

He  filled  out  the  list,  leaving  one  name  blank,  and 
James  Fletcher's  name  was  not  among  those  he  wrote. 
Then  he  folded  his  list  and  walked  out  into  the  night, 
and,  pacing  up  and  down,  fought  out  his  battle  alone. 
It  was  a  hard  thing  to  do,  to  be  sure,  but  war  was 
made  up  of  hard  things,  and  this  was  an  incident  of 
war.  Why  should  he  let  this  mountaineer,  whom 
chance  had  thrown  between  him  and  his  idol,  usurp 
the  place  that  belonged  to  him  ?  One  by  one  he  linked 
together  arguments  that  almost  persuaded  him  to 
doit. 

Then  his  heart  beat  faster  as  he  imagined  the  re- 
sult. Perhaps  Fletcher  would  not  return — that  some- 
times happened  to  men  in  prison.  Some  had  to  stay 
and  take  the  chances.  Suppose  that  should  happen, 
and  Barbara  should  learn,  as  learn  she  would,  that  he 
had  died  in  the  war?  Surely  he  would  be  a  rival  no 
longer.  Boyd  could  aflFord  to  forget  her  passing  fancy 
for  him,  and  in  time,  when  her  heart  grew  whole 
again,  and  he  returned  with  his  rank,  honestly  won, 
and  the  greater  honors  that  were  no  doubt  before  him, 
why  might  he  not  honestly  claim  her? 

So  for  half  the  night  he  walked  and  argued  the 
case  with  his  own  conscience,  and  looked  up  at  the 
stars  and  asked  himself  whether  indeed  there  was  a 
God  who  concerned  himself  with  such  affairs,  and 
cared  to  remember  them  afterward. 

And  so  the  night  wore  on,  and  the  struggle  within 
him  was  fierce,  and  then  he  thought  of  the  pure  soul 
of  Barbara,  and  how  she  would  scorn  the  man  who 


336  Pine  Knot 

would  do  what  he  was  thinking  of  doing,  nay,  how  he 
would  scorn  himself.  He  held  his  possible  self,  the 
guilty,  selfish  self  before  his  face,  and  lashed  him  with 
his  own  manly  scorn  and  contempt.  And  then  he  fell 
upon  his  knees,  and  looked  up  at  the  stars,  and  went 
in  and  filled  the  blank  line  with  the  name  of  James 
Fletcher. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

WITH    THE   RANK    OF    CAPTAIN 

It  was  a  beautiful  day  in  the  spring  of  1863  when 
James  Fletcher  returned  from  prison.  The  men  to 
be  exchanged  were  loaded  into  cars,  and  a  fairly  long 
train  was  made  up. 

"  We're  to  be  exchanged !  "  cried  one  and  another. 

"  Shut  up !  "  growled  an  older  man.  "  They  only 
tell  us  that  to  keep  us  quiet  on  the  cars,  I've  been 
moved  from  prison  to  prison  since  the  fall  of  '61 — 
Belle  Isle,  Andersonville,  Tuscaloosa  —  I've  been  the 
round  of  the  noted  winter  resorts,  and  every  time  I'm 
moved  to  some  hole  worse  than  the  last  they  tell  me 
I'm  to  be  exchanged!  " 

The  hearts  of  all  who  heard  him  fell;  and  there 
were  others  who  told  a  similar  story  of  disappoint- 
ment. Surely,  and  with  occasional  stops,  the  train 
moved  on,  and  as  night  approached  they  were  run  upon 
a  siding  where,  in  uncertainty  and  discomfort,  they 
waited  for  morning. 

There  never  had  been  such  a  day  as  the  one  that 
dawned — certainly  not  since  the  earth  was  new.  The 
sunrise  was  glorious,  and  the  earth  was  green  and 
clean  and  fragrant.  Oh,  how  green  were  the  fields 
and  how  beautiful  they  looked  to  the  sick,  dirty,  hun- 

337 


338  Pine  Knot 

gry  men !  And  the  uncertainty  whether  they  were  to 
step  out  upon  the  earth  that  looked  too  good  to  set 
foot  upon,  or  to  be  imprisoned  again,  perhaps  this  time 
in  Andersonville,  grew  almost  unbearable. 

At  length  an  officer  walked  along  the  train  bearing 
a  handful  of  small  white  flags,  and  he  attached  one  to 
each  car. 

Then  the  men  cheered,  for  they  felt  sure  that  those 
white  flags  meant  that  they  were  about  to  enter  the 
Union  lines.  Indeed,  the  Union  lines  were  just  across 
the  river,  and  as  the  train  slowly  started,  they  could  see 
the  Union  soldiers  turning  out  in  answer  to  the  bugle 
call.  Oh,  what  a  clean  army  it  was !  They  had  worn 
out  their  old  clothes  in  the  winter's  service,  and  all  had 
drawn  new  clothing,  and  the  new  buttons  could  be 
seen  farther  than  the  color  of  the  coats  that  bore  them ! 

Slowly  the  train  moved  across  the  river,  and  then, 
a  car  at  a  time,  the  prisoners  were  taken  out.  Two 
Confederate  officers  compared  lists  with  those  of  Union 
officers,  and  checked  the  men  oflf,  car  by  car. 

Within  the  cars  huddled  the  men  in  their  rags  and 
filth ;  without  stood  the  clean  soldiers  in  their  new 
clothes;  and  as  the  prisoners  came  out,  they  were 
marched  a  short  distance  away  to  a  clean  spot  where 
the  regiments  nearest  were  already  making  coffee,  and 
would  soon  pitch  tents  for  them.  And  now  and  then 
a  cheer  went  up  as  some  one  recognized  a  comrade 
among  the  returned. 

James  Fletcher  stood  at  the  open  door,  helping  out 
those  who  were  weaker  than  himself.  Two  brawny 
soldiers  on  the  ground  below  were  lifting  them  down. 

"All  out?  Well,  then,  jump  down!"  And  two 
pairs  of  strong  arms  were  extended  to  help  him. 


With  the  Rank  of  Captain  339 

Then  occurred  an  incident  which  James  Fletcher 
remembered  all  his  life ;  nor  does  greater  honor  come 
often  to  any  man.  Back  in  the  crowd  two  men  recog- 
nized him — his  old  captain,  promoted  now,  the  colo- 
nel of  another  regiment — and  the  color  sergeant, 
now  a  captain,  whose  flag  he  had  rescued  and  whose 
life  he  had  saved  at  Fort  Donelson.  These  two 
rushed  forward,  his  name  on  their  lips.  All  unmind- 
ful of  their  new  uniforms  and  of  his  foul  rags,  they 
seized  him,  an  arm  around  him  on  either  side ;  and 
so,  amid  the  cheers  of  the  men  in  blue  and  the  men 
in  rags,  they  bore  him  from  the  prison  train  out 
into  the  glorious  sunshine.  Many  a  man  had  a 
warm  welcome  as  he  came  from  the  train  that  day, 
but  no  man  was  so  warmly  welcomed  as  James 
Fletcher. 

'■  I  never  look  for  greater  honor,"  he  said  years 
afterward,  "  nor  can  so  grand  a  thing  happen  to  me 
again  on  earth.  But  I  sometimes  hope  for  something 
like  it  in  the  day  of  the  new  heaven  and  the  new  earth. 
I've  thought  that  maybe  in  that  day  Jesus  Christ  would 
cover  my  rags  with  his  own  righteousness,  and  bear 
me  into  the  kingdom.  Then  I  shall  remember  that 
day  again." 

There  was  delay  in  sending  the  prisoners  North, 
but  after  a  few  weeks  Fletcher  was  returned  to  Ken- 
tucky, where  his  own  regiment  was  recruiting  at  Camp 
Nelson.  There  he  was  glad  to  meet  his  old  colonel, 
whom  he  had  seen  last  as  he  was  bearing  him  from 
the  battlefield  at  Richmond. 

"  How  are  you,  Fletcher?  " 

The  colonel  greeted  him  with  a  ringing  slap  upon 
the  shoulder  and  a  warm  word  in  his  ear. 


340  Pine  Knot 

"  How  are  you,  colonel  ?  How  did  you  come 
here  ?  " 

"  I  might  not  have  been  here  but  for  you.  Where 
have  you  been  ?  " 

"  In  Tuscaloosa." 

"  Well,  you  look  better  fed  than  some  boarders 
from  that  hotel.  Your  time  expired  while  you  were  in 
prison,  I  suppose  you  know ;  but  your  pay  runs  on." 

"  I  reckon  so.    And  I'm  going  to  enlist  again," 

"  Of  course  you  are.    And  in  the  old  regiment." 

"  I  reckoned  it  would  have  been  recruited  up  be- 
fore this  time." 

"  No,  we've  been  hindered.  We  had  to  make  the 
regiment  over  new,  and  so  many  men  prefer  to  or- 
ganize new  regiments.  But  we're  getting  pretty  near 
our  full  strength,  and  shall  move  soon.  We're  camp- 
ing here.    We'll  take  you  in,  of  course." 

"  Of  course  you  will." 

"  Look  here,  Fletcher,  did  you  know  I  recom- 
mended you  for  promotion  ?  " 

"  No.    I've  been  where  news  didn't  come  very  fast." 

"  Well,  it's  on  record.  I'm  sorry  all  the  commis- 
sioned offices  are  taken.  Having  to  get  so  many  men, 
they  came  in  bunches,  from  abandoned  organizations; 
and  with  what  officers  they  had  elected,  and  what  we 
had  left  over,  there  are  more  captains  and  lieutenants 
than  there  are  places,  I  hate  to  see  so  good  a  man 
as  you  carrying  a  gun." 

"  Colonel,"  said  Fletcher,  "  there  is  not  a  man  in 
the  army  too  good  to  be  a  private." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  the  colonel.  "  I  did  not 
quite  mean  what  I  said.  What  I  should  have  said 
is,  that  I  am  sorry  not  to  be  able  to  place  so  good  a 


With  the  Rank  of  Captain  341 

man  in  a  higher  position,  such  as  I  know  you  are 
worthy  to  fill.  Perhaps  we  can  get  you  a  brevet  rank, 
and  something  will  come  of  it  later.  At  any  rate  your 
record  is  in  Washington,  and  I  shall  not  forget  you 
if  anything  opens." 

"  Thank  you,  colonel,  but  I  am  content  with  mat- 
ters as  they  are." 

"  By  the  way,"  said  the  colonel,  "  I  have  been 
carrying  a  letter  for  you  for  a  good  while.  It  came 
here  and  followed  our  regiment  to  Fort  Donelson  and 
Pittsburg  Landing,  then  somehow  missed  us  when  we 
came  North  after  Kirby  Smith.  Finally,  it  got  back 
here  again  when  there  was  talk  of  recruiting  the  regi- 
ment, and  when  I  came  it  was  given  to  me.  I  have 
kept  it  for  you." 

It  was  a  dainty  little  note,  black-bordered,  quite 
unlike  any  that  Fletcher  was  accustomed  to  receive. 
For  that  matter,  he  was  unaccustomed  to  much  mail. 
He  opened  it  and  read  Barbara's  invitation  to  him  to 
visit  Lexington. 

"  Colonel,"  he  said,  with  flushed  cheeks,  "  I  want 
to  get  away  for  a  few  days." 

"  Very  well.  Where  do  you  want  to  go  ?  Give  me 
your  address,  for  I  may  want  to  write  you." 

"  Care  of  Mr.  William  Bernaugh,  Lexington,"  said 
Fletcher. 

"  Very  well.  Don't  hurry  back  if  you  care  to  stay. 
I  will  send  you  word  if  the  regiment  is  to  move.  I'll 
set  that  down :  '  James  Fletcher,  care  of — '  By  the 
way,  Fletcher,  isn't  it  *  Rev.  James  Fletcher  '  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  minister,  sir,  but  I  have  dropped  my  title, 
though  I  hope  not  my  religion,  until  after  the  war." 

"  Well,  that  reminds  me.    When  I  said  the  offices 


342  Pine  Knot 

were  gone  I  forgot  that  of  chaplain.  Now  you  know 
as  well  as  I  do  that  some  chaplains  are  good  post- 
masters and  no  more ;  and  on  the  other  hand,  some  of 
them  are  true  to  the  core.  Fletcher,  I'm  going  to 
appoint  you  chaplain,  and  send  for  your  commission. 
You  are  to  be  the  regiment's  chaplain,  sir,  with  the 
rank  of  captain." 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

AN    IDEAL   AND   A   REALITY 

James  Fletcher  rode  as  far  as  Lexington,  and 
then  walked  out  the  pike  to  the  Bernaugh  home.  He 
had  started  at  once  on  receiving  the  message,  eager  to 
respond  to  it;  yet  as  he  approached  the  house  he  felt 
a  certain  reluctance.  He  was  unused  to  surroundings 
such  as  these.  Moreover,  for  what  purpose  had  he 
come?  To  take  advantage  of  this  girl's  grief  or  her 
courtesy  and  to  seek  to  win  her  heart  against  her  judg- 
ment? No,  he  would  not.  He  had  received  his  an- 
swer in  good  faith ;  he  would  abide  by  it.  The  Barbara 
Buzbee  of  his  heart  was  an  ideal  against  which  he 
had  striven  to  measure  his  performance  of  duty.  The 
Barbara  Buzbee  whom  he  was  about  to  see  was  as 
any  other  woman  to  him ;  and  the  Barbara  Buzbee  of 
his  past  was  dead.  So  he  said  to  himself.  But  it  is 
easier  dealing  with  a  memory  that  one  counts  dead 
or  with  an  ideal  than  with  a  living  woman — or  at  least 
Fletcher  thought  so — and  he  was  about  to  meet  Bar- 
bara Buzbee  of  real  life.  Just  how  he  should  act  he 
did  not  feel  sure. 

Slowly  he  walked  up  the  avenue,  stepping  aside 
into  the  blue  grass  of  the  lawn  to  wipe  the  dust  from 
his  boots.  His  uniform,  he  was  glad  to  remember, 
23  243 


344  Pi'^^  Knot 

though  only  that  of  a  private,  was  new,  replacing 
the  one  he  had  worn  out  in  prison.  He  would 
have  a  chaplain's  uniform  soon ;  he  almost  wished 
he  had  waited  for  it.  With  beating  heart,  but 
with  courage  screwed  up  as  when  charging  a  bat- 
tery, he  stepped  upon  the  gallery  and  rang  the 
bell. 

"  Ge'man  step  in  ?  "  asked  the  colored  girl  at  the 
door. 

"  Is  your  master  at  home  ?  "  asked  Fletcher. 

"  No,  sah ;  he  done  gone  to  Maws'  Estill." 

"  Is  your  young  mistress  in  ?  " 

**  I  ain't  right  sho.    I'll  go  see." 

Fletcher  sat  in  the  high  old  parlor  whose  wall  paper 
was  imported  with  that  which  President  Jackson 
bought  in  Paris  for  the  Hermitage.  It  was  all  new  to 
him  and  very  strange.  He  wished  he  had  written 
before  coming.  Who  knew  whether  he  would  be  wel- 
come? He  was  half  resolved  to  leave  his  regards  and 
go  back  to  Lexington,  and  then  next  day  back  to 
camp. 

A  young  lady  appeared  in  the  door. 

"Why,  Mr.  Fletcher!  How  do  you  do?"  she 
asked. 

Something  familiar  in  the  voice  made  his  heart 
leap. 

"  Miss  Barbara,"  said  he,  "  I  am  very  glad  to  see 
you." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Fletcher !  I'd  believe  anything  rea- 
sonable against  you,  but  not  to  know  your  old  friends ! 
I  wouldn't  have  believed  that." 

"  Miss  Liberty !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  How  did  you 
come  here  ?  " 


An  Ideal  and  a  Reality  345 

"  Oh,  I  rode !  Have  I  changed  so  much,  Mr. 
Fletcher?" 

"  No;  it  was  my  stupidity.  That  is,  you  have 
changed,  but  it  was  not  that " 

"  Now,  I  don't  think  you're  getting  out  of  that  very 
well.  I  haven't  changed,  and  I  have?  No  matter. 
You  have  changed!  How  fine  you  look  in  your  uni- 
form !  Stand  up,  I  want  to  see  you !  That  will  do.  No, 
you  need  not  sit  so  far  over  there — unless  you  want  to, 
I'm  sorry  Miss  Barbara  is  not  home.  But  her  grand- 
father will  be  home  soon,  and  he  will  welcome  you." 

Then  followed  an  awkward  pause.  Fletcher  was 
getting  his  bearings,  but  Liberty  was  quite  at  ease,  and 
Fletcher  could  not  make  himself  believe  that  she  was 
not  enjoying  his  disappointment.  He  was  half  angry 
with  her,  and  yet  not  wholly  displeased.  At  length, 
and  with  visible  efifort,  he  resumed  the  conversation : 

"  Is — is  Miss  Barbara  far  away  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  she  will  not  be  home  to-night.  She  is 
very  busy  just  now.  By  the  way,  when  did  you  meet 
Boyd  Estill?" 

"  I  have  never  met  him.  I  do  not  know  him.  Who 
is  he?" 

"  Miss  Barbara's  lover."  She  watched  him  closely 
as  she  spoke.  It  was  kinder,  she  thought,  to  tell  him 
plainly.    Perhaps,  also,  she  had  other  reasons. 

He  gave  a  little  start  and  grew  a  trifle  paler.  Then 
he  asked,  "  Does  her  lover  live  in  Lexington  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  that  is,  Lexington  is  his  home." 

"  I  knew  that  she  had  a  lover,"  said  Fletcher 
simply. 

"  You  did  ?  "  she  asked  in  surprise. 

"  Yes,"  said  he. 


346  Pine  Knot 

"  How  did  you  know  ?  " 

"  She  told  me  so." 

Liberty  wondered  how  Barbara  had  told  what  she 
did  not  know.  In  truth  it  was  what  she  had  told,  or 
rather  what  he  thought  she  had  told,  that  had  enabled 
him  to  supplant  in  his  heart  the  image  of  the  real  Bar- 
bara Buzbee  and  to  cherish  the  ideal  for  which  he 
knew  no  better  name. 

It  was  something  of  a  shock  to  Fletcher,  to  be 
sure,  but  it  was  also  in  part  a  relief  to  hear  of 
Barbara's  lover.  He  must  rename  his  ideal ;  he  must 
no  longer  give  it  a  name  that  belonged  to  another 
man's  promised  wife.  It  would  take  an  effort,  no 
doubt,  but  he  could  do  it,  and  he  would.  He  had 
cherished  the  name,  half  against  his  conscience,  but 
with  the  conscious  self-delusion  that  he  might  have 
misunderstood.  There  was  no  longer  ground  for  a 
misunderstanding,  and  while  he  sighed,  it  was  in  part  a 
sigh  of  relief.    Now  his  duty  was  clear. 

All  these  things  James  Fletcher  thought  in  a  half 
minute.     Then  he  said : 

"  Miss  Barbara's  lover  is  to  be  congratulated.  I 
have  the  highest  respect  for  her,  and  sincerely  wish 
her  and  her  lover  joy." 

Liberty  watched  Fletcher  with  a  close  scrutiny 
which  veiled  itself  in  a  careless  manner.  She  was 
enjoying  the  opportunity  of  telling  this  man  who  had 
once  passed  her  for  another,  that  he  in  turn  was  sup- 
planted. But  her  manner  changed  at  his  last  word. 
She  had  not  the  heart  to  torture  a  man  who  met  his 
fate  so  bravely.  And  then  she  remembered  Boyd,  and 
her  former  question  how  he  had  come  to  know 
Fletcher. 


An  Ideal  and  a  Reality  347 

"  There  is  something  strange  about  this,"  said  Lib- 
erty. "  Mr.  Estill  certainly  knows  you,  and  has  met 
you  somewhere." 

"  I  am  sure  I  do  not  remember  him.  Where  have 
we  met  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.    He  is  a  Confederate  captain." 

"  I  hope  it  was  not  on  the  battlefield,"  said 
Fletcher.  "  I  should  be  sorry  to  do  anything  against 
Miss  Barbara's  lover." 

"  He  has  done  something  to  you,  whether  good  or 
bad  I  do  not  know.  But  it  is  on  his  mind,  and  troubles 
him,  and  Barbara  too." 

"Where  is  he?" 

"  At  his  father's  home,  on  the  next  plantation.  You 
are  not  bound  to  capture  him  if  I  tell  you,  are  you  ?  " 

"  Hardly ;  and  perhaps,  if  capture  were  in  order, 
he  might  capture  me." 

"  No  danger  of  that,"  said  Liberty  sadly.  "  He  is 
very  sick." 

"  I  am  sorry,  but  I  do  not  remember  him.  I  hope 
he  is  not  seriously  ill?  " 

"  We  hope  not.  But  he  has  delirium,  and  there  is 
something  on  his  mind.  I  am  not  sure  but  your  com- 
ing is  just  what  he  will  need.  Here  comes  Mr.  Ber- 
naugh. — O  grandpa !  "  she  cried,  and  the  name  showed 
how  she  had  grown  into  the  life  of  the  home.  "  Come 
in  at  once !  " 

Mr.  Bernaugh  entered  the  parlor. 

"  This  is  my  friend  Mr.  Fletcher— Barbara's  friend, 
too." 

"  Mr.  James  Fletcher?  "  asked  Mr.  Bernaugh,  seiz- 
ing his  hand  eagerly. 

"  Yes,  sir." 


348  Pine  Knot 

"  Sit  down,  Mr.  Fletcher.  You  are  very  welcome, 
sir.  You  are  welcome  as  a  friend  of  my  girls  here, 
and  welcome  for  the  cause  you  represent — though 
many  of  my  friends  wear  gray,  sir,  many  of  them.  It 
is  hard  lines  for  us  conservative  old  folks,  sir.  But 
you  are  most  of  all  welcome  just  now  if  you  can  help 
us  with  our  sick  boy.  Tell  me,  sir — you  are-  a  man 
of  honor — did  Captain  Boyd  Estill  ever  harm  you  or 
do  a  dishonorable  thing  to  you?  " 

"  Never,  to  my  knowledge,"  said  Fletcher. 

"What  did  he  do?" 

"  I  do  not  remember  ever  meeting  him." 

"  That  is  strange.    He  talks  of  you  constantly." 

"  Mr.  Fletcher,"  asked  Liberty,  "  have  you  been 
in  prison?  " 

"  Yes — in  Tuscaloosa." 

"  When  did  you  get  out  ?  " 

"  Two  months  ago — in  April." 

"  That  was  while  Boyd  was  there,"  said  Mr.  Ber- 
naugh  with  relief. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Fletcher,  "  it  will  be  as  well  for 
you  to  tell  me  more  about  him.  How  does  he  talk? 
He  is  delirious,  and  talks  of  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.  He  seems  in  his  delirium  to  consider 
you  a  rival  for  the  afifections  of  Miss  Barbara,  sir.  I 
am  right  in  supposing  him  to  be  wrong  in  this  ?  " 

"  Entirely  so,  sir,"  said  Fletcher  with  a  frankness 
that  surprised  himself. 

"  Pardon  the  directness  of  my  question,  sir.  I  have 
no  wish  to  intrude,  but  you  understand  matters  are  of 
such  a  nature  that  frankness  is  necessary." 

"  I  am  entirely  willing  to  tell  you,"  said  Fletcher. 
"  I  have  the  highest  regard  for  Miss  Barbara.     I  do 


An  Ideal  and  a  Reality  349 

not  deny  that  at  one  time  I  cherished  a  hope  that  she 
would  regard  me  favorably,  but  we  are  simply  friends, 
and  have  been  so  for  nearly  two  years.  If — if  I  have 
ever  hoped  that  she  would  change  toward  me,  the  hope 
has  been  my  own.  She  has  never  encouraged  it,  and 
I  am  still  and  only  her  friend,  with  best  wishes  for  her 
lover." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Ber- 
naugh.  Fletcher  was  surprised  to  find  himself  glad 
also,  and  for  some  reason  he  was  conscious  all  the 
while  that  he  was  the  more  glad  to  have  Liberty  hear 
him. 

"  Mr.  Estill,"  said  Mr.  Bemaugh,  "  is  a  lifelong 
friend  of  our  family,  as  his  parents  and  grandparents 
have  been  before  him.  He  and  Barbara  have  been 
friends  and  lovers  from  childhood.  You  will  under- 
stand me  when  I  say  that,  while  I  have  learned  through 
an  experience  that  has  cost  me  years  of  sorrow  not 
to  interfere  with  other  people's  love  affairs,  it  would 
be  a  bitter  disappointment  if  through  death  or  dis- 
agreement any  change  came  about  in  this  matter.  I 
make  this  explanation  as  a  partial  apology  for  ques- 
tioning you  on  the  threshold  of  my  home." 

"  I  understand  you,  sir,"  said  Fletcher. 

"  But  you  will  understand  that  my  reason,  after  all, 
for  so  discourteous  a  proceeding  is  my  anxiety  for  this 
young  man's  life — and  honor,  sir." 

"  Do  not  apologize,  sir,"  said  Fletcher.  "  Ask  me 
anything ;  or  better — since  as  yet  I  have  no  clew  to  the 
situation — tell  me  how  Mr.  Estill  talks  of  me." 

"  He  was  guard  officer  at  the  prison  in  April," 
said  Liberty,  "  and  I  think  he  must  have  been  in  doubt 
whether  to  send  up  your  name  for  exchange  or  not. 


350  Pine  Knot 

He  was  much  run  down  after  a  hard  campaign,  and 
on  the  verge  of  this  terrible  fever,  and  I  think  he  had 
a  struggle  over  your  name.  Did  you  know  nothing 
of  it?" 

"  Nothing,"  said  Fletcher,  "  but  I  begin  to  under- 
stand." 

**  A  very  hard  feature  of  it,  sir,  both  for  his  father 
and  for  me,"  said  Bernaugh,  "  is  that  sometimes  he 
believes  himself  to  have  left  you  there,  a  victim  of  his 
jealousy.    Of  course  we  did  not  know  the  facts " 

"  But  we  knew  he  was  the  soul  of  honor,"  said 
Liberty. 

"  Yes,  sir,  we  knew  it,"  said  Mr.  Bernaugh,  reach- 
ing for  his  handkerchief,  "  but  when  we  heard  him 
reproaching  himself  and  suffering  remorse — anything 

that  touches  the  honor  of  my  family,  sir — any " 

The  old  man  sobbed. 

"  Let  me  hasten  to  confirm  your  assurance  of  his 
honor,"  said  Fletcher.  "  What  you  say  convinces  me 
that  I  am  indebted  to  him  for  my  freedom.  If  he  did 
this  believing  that  I  was  his  rival,  he  has  shown  him- 
self a  man  of  the  purest  honor." 

"  Come !  "  said  Mr.  Bernaugh.  "  We  must  go 
over ! — Liberty  !  Call  the  carriage.  Where  are  all 
those  lazy  niggers? — Here  you,  Bill!  You  have  the 
carriage  here  in  half  a  minute,  you  no  'count  nigger, 
or  I'll  wear  you  out! — Come,  sir! — Come,  Liberty! 
We  must  go  over !  " 

The  carriage  was  at  the  door,  and  Fletcher  and  Mr. 
Bernaugh  were  seated  within. 

"To  Mr.  Estill's!"  shouted  Bernaugh;  "and  if 
you  let  the  horses  stop  to  graze  along  the  pike, 
I'll — "     But  the  driver  understood  the  spirit  of  his 


An  Ideal  and  a  Reality  351 

order,  and  the  horses  were  already  tearing  down  the 
avenue. 

What  had  he  done?  Fletcher  asked  himself  as  the 
carriage  whirled  along  the  pike.  He  had  renounced 
Barbara  sight  unseen.  He  had  come  here  hoping  to 
marry  Barbara — yes,  he  might -as  well  admit  it  now. 
That  little  note  had  stirred  his  heart  to  its  depths.  He 
had  come  denying  it  to  himself  all  the  way,  but  hop- 
ing against  his  own  acknowledgment  to  himself  that 
Barbara  had  relented.  And  now,  on  the  very  thresh- 
old, and  before  he  had  seen  her  face,  he  had  disclaimed 
her,  and  conceded  the  right  of  a  rival.  Yet  he  felt 
strangely  at  peace  with  himself,  and  wishing,  in  a 
wholly  unaccountable  way,  that  Liberty  had  driven 
over  with  them. 

"  You're  a  godsend,  sir,  a  special  providence,"  said 
Mr.  Bernaugh,  who  had  been  talking  all  the  way. 
"  You  are  the  very  man  to  save  Boyd's  life,  and  re- 
store happiness  to  our  two  homes.  No  man  can  im- 
agine the  agony,  yes,  sir,  the  agony,  in  which  I  have 
lived. — Bill,  you  black  rascal,  if  you  don't  keep  those 
horses  moving! — Why,  sir,  I  knew  that  Boyd  Estill 
would  never  do  a  mean  thing,  but  to  hear  him  confess 
it,  sir,  to  hear  him  confess  it  in  his  delirium — good 
Lord !  It  was  agony,  sir,  it  was  agony !  If  any  other 
man  had  said  it,  I'd  have  challenged  him  at  six  paces, 
sir,  old  as  I  am!  But  to  hear  him  say  it,  and  to  be 
unable  to  disprove  it — !  My  family,  sir,  has  an 
honorable  record  far  back  into  Old  V'giny,  and  the 
same  of  Mr.  Estill's!  It  runs  in  the  blood!  Hot- 
headed and  high  strung — yes,  sir ;  I  know  our  faults ! 
But  honor,  sir,  honor!  And  anything  that  touches 
the    honor    of   my    family — !     God    bless    you,    sir! 


352  Pine  Knot 

You've  saved  his  life,  I  know,  and  the  happiness  of 
all  of  us  !  " 

This  was  confusing  to  Fletcher  in  a  way,  but  one 
thing  he  saw  as  clearly  as  he  ever  saw  it  through  the 
battle  smoke — his  present  duty.  He  might  regret 
afterward  that  he  had  spoken  so  quickly,  so  irrevoca- 
bly. He  might  see  that  he  had  done  wrong  not  to 
make  more  clear  the  intensity  of  his  love  for  Barbara. 
He  might  long  afterward  for  her  whom  he  had  so 
readily  given  over  to  another,  but  to-day,  and  now,  he 
had  but  one  duty,  and  that  was  to  stand  squarely  by 
what  he  had  done,  and  by  all  honorable  means  strive 
for  the  happiness  of  Barbara  and  Boyd. 

"  God  help  me,"  said  the  old  man,  when  the  car- 
riage stopped,  "  I'm  all  unnerved !  I  can't  go  in 
now !  " 

"  Leave  it  to  me,"  said  Fletcher  calmly.  "  Wait 
for  me  here  in  the  porch." 

"  Yes,  yes !  You  go  in ! — Here,  you  young  nig- 
ger— you,  what's  your  name? — you  show  Maw'sr 
Fletcher  up  to  Maw'sr  Boyd's  room  I  " 

Barbara  sai,  pale  but  calm,  beside  the  bed  of  Boyd 
Estill.  The  sick  man,  roused  from  a  troubled  sleep, 
gave  a  moan,  and  muttered  in  his  delirium  : 

"  It's  an  awful  place,  that  prison !  He's  starving 
there !  He's  dead  by  this  time !  No,  he  isn't !  He's 
out!  I  let  him  out!  I  wrote  his  name  on  the  ex- 
change list !  I  can  see  it  now,  James  Fletcher  I  And 
he'll  marry  Barbara!  No,  he  shall  not!  I'll  see  him 
die  there  first !    Who's  going  to  know  it,  anyhow  ?  " 

And  so,  as  for  days  past,  he  fought  over  again 
the  battle  he  had  so  bravely  won  in  his  night  strug- 
gle. 


An  Ideal  and  a  Reality  353 

The  door  opened,  and  James  Fletcher  entered. 
Barbara  started.    Boyd  shrieked. 

"  There  he  is !  "  he  cried.    "  I  killed  him !  " 

Fletcher  passed  straight  past  Barbara  and  went  to 
the  bedside.  Experience  in  sickness  such  as  this  made 
him  master  of  the  situation. 

"  Be  still,  Boyd,"  he  said  calmly.  "  You  did  not 
kill  me.    You  saved  my  life." 

"  I  know  you !  I  know  you !  "  cried  Boyd.  "  I 
saw  you  march  to  the  train !  You've  come  to  marry 
Barbara !  " 

"  You  are  mistaken  again,"  said  Fletcher.  "  I've 
come  to  marry  you  to  Barbara.  I'm  a  preacher,  you 
know,  a  chaplain.  You  let  me  out,  and  they  have 
promoted  me.  But  you  are  too  tired  to-night.  You 
must  rest  now." 

Barbara  started  and  looked  up  at  Fletcher,  and 
then  down  at  Boyd.  She  turned  pale  and  then  flushed, 
and  then  she  wondered  if  she  was  in  a  dream.  Where 
had  he  come  from?  How  did  he  know?  What  had 
changed  him?  She  could  not  answer,  but  her  eyes 
met  those  of  Fletcher,  and  she  saw  in  them  assurance 
and  strength  of  purpose.  She  trusted  him  and  ac- 
cepted her  own  part. 

"  You're  a  spirit !  "  cried  Boyd.  "  You're  the  man 
I  murdered !  " 

"  I'm  the  man  you  saved,"  said  Fletcher  calmly ; 
"  and  I'm  here  to  marry  you  to  Barbara.  Rest  now, 
for  we  shall  have  a  fine  wedding,  and  you  are  tired." 

The  sick  man  argued  it  over  and  over,  but  with 
diminishing  vigor.  Fletcher's  calmness  reassured  him 
at  length. 

"Is  this  true,  Barbara?"  he  asked. 


354  Pij^6  Knot 

"  Yes,"  said  Barbara.  "  It  is  true.  And  you  must 
rest  now,  and  get  ready  for  the  wedding," 

All  that  night  Barbara  and  Fletcher  watched  beside 
him.  A  score  of  times  they  told  him  the  same  story. 
As  often  they  denied  that  Boyd  had  killed  his  rival. 
As  morning  drew  near,  Boyd  fell  sound  asleep,  and 
Fletcher  motioned  Barbara  to  the  couch  in  the  corner, 
where  she  lay  down ;  and  James  Fletcher  alone  watched 
the  night  die  out  and  the  dawn  come  in.  When  Boyd 
awoke  after  a  rest  of  four  hours  he  was  in  his  right 
mind. 

"  Then  it  was  not  a  dream,"  said  he.  "  Thank 
God!" 

"  No,"  said  Fletcher,  "  it  is  all  true.  Drink  this 
beef  tea  now,  and  go  to  sleep  again ;  for  before  I  go 
back  to  camp  I  must  marry  you  to  Barbara." 

They  were  anxious  days  that  followed,  and  the 
delirium  returned  often,  but  Fletcher's  presence  and 
Barbara's  assurance  came  to  have  a  charm  that  quieted 
even  his  wildest  ravings ;  and  when,  after  a  week  of 
constant  watching,  the  fever  abated,  the  pale,  weak 
man  clasped  Fletcher's  strong  hand  in  his  own  thin 
white  one  and  said : 

"  Thank  you,  chaplain.  I  reckon  you've  pulled  me 
through." 

Fletcher  held  the  sick  man's  hand  in  his  own  firm 
grasp  and  looked  Boyd  in  the  face.  "  Yes,"  said  he, 
"  you  will  recover,  and  I  shall  marry  you  to  Barbara. 
And  you  are  worthy  of  her,  Boyd  !     God  bless  you !  " 

He  took  Barbara's  hand  and  stood  for  a  moment 
holding  a  hand  of  each.  Then  he  placed  their  hands 
in  each  other's. 

Barbara  stooped  and  kissed  Boyd's  white  forehead. 


An  Ideal  and  a  Reality  355 

Boyd  raised  his  weak  arm,  and  drew  her  face  down 
upon  his  own.  They  forgot  Fletcher,  and  when  they 
looked  up  he  had  gone.  They  were  sitting  hand  in 
hand,  Boyd  half  propped  with  pillows  and  Barbara 
close  beside  him  when  Liberty  entered. 

"  Don't  go.  Liberty,"  called  Barbara,  as  she  started 
back ;  "  you  are  not  intruding." 

"  I  don't  reckon  you  need  me,"  said  Liberty. 
"  You  all  look  right  happy  by  yourselves." 

"  We  are  so  happy,  so  happy !  "  said  Barbara. 

"What  about  Mr.  Jim  Fletcher?"  asked  Liberty, 
a  little  maliciously. 

"  He's  a  hero !  "  said  Boyd.  "  He's  saved  my 
life." 

"  I  reckon  he  has,"  said  Liberty  quietly. 

"  It  is  just  like  him,"  said  Barbara,  "  and  we  are  so 
happy ! " 

"  So  I  see,"  said  Liberty,  "  and  now  what's  going 
to  become  of  the  preacher?  " 

"  Is  he  in  any  danger?  "  asked  Boyd. 

"  Oh,  I  reckon  not.  Only  I  was  thinking  you  all 
are  so  happy  you  don't  seem  to  consider  how  hard  it's 
been  for  him." 

"  I  have  not  forgotten  it,"  said  Boyd. 

"  Liberty,"  said  Barbara,  "  I  have  an  idea  that  the 
preacher  will  not  suffer." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  Liberty,  flushing. 

"  Oh,  nothing,"  laughed  Barbara. 

"  I  don't  see  the  joke,"  said  Boyd. 

"  There  is  no  joke,"  said  Liberty.  "  You  ought  to 
be  ashamed,  Barbara.  He's  broken  his  heart  for  you, 
and  you  all  are  too  happy  all  by  yourselves  to  appre- 
ciate it." 


356  Pine  Knot 

Boyd  looked  troubled.  Liberty  sat  grave  and 
flushed.  Barbara  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then, 
breaking  into  a  laugh,  danced  over  to  Liberty,  and 
seizing  her  hands,  half  forced  her  from  her  seat  as  she 
tripped  around  humming : 

"  I'll  get  another  one,  skip-t*-m'-Ioo, 
I'll  get  another  one,  skip-t'-m'-loo, 
I'll  get  another  one,  prettier,  too, 
Skip-t'-m'-loo,  my  darling  !  " 

But  Liberty  broke  from  her  and  ran  from  the  room. 

There  were  weeks  of  careful  nursing  still  in  store 
for  Boyd,  and  Liberty  shared  with  Barbara  the  fatigues 
of  those  days  and  nights, 

Fletcher  was  constantly  at  hand,  and  the  relation 
between  him  and  Boyd  grew  to  be  a  very  warm  one. 
As  Boyd  grew  better  and  needed  less  constant  care, 
he  and  Barbara  were  left  more  together ;  and  then 
Fletcher  would  gladly  have  been  more  with  Liberty. 
He  did  not  admit  that  he  loved  her ;  he  loved  an  ideal 
only,  and  that  had  lost  its  name ;  but  Liberty  had  cer- 
tainly developed  into  a  very  attractive  young  woman, 
and  Fletcher  rather  longed  for  her  society.  But  Lib- 
erty rather  avoided  him,  and,  except  for  the  care  of 
Boyd,  they  saw  less  of  each  other  than  he  could  have 
thought  possible.  The  two  old  men  were  always  at 
hand,  too,  and  what  with  their  desire  to  show  Fletcher 
the  farms,  and  to  have  him  try  the  best  saddle  horses 
for  the  sake  of  the  fresh  air,  and  his  own  occasional 
errands  to  Lexington  for  news  of  the  war.  Liberty 
might  almost  as  well  have  been  at  No  Bus'ness. 

All  this  time  the  movements  of  armies  went  on. 
Grant  was  sawing  the  Confederacy  in  twain  along  the 
Mississippi's  length,  and  was  tightening  his  grip  on 


An  Ideal  and  a  Reality  357 

Vicksburg,  and  Lee  was  crossing  Mason  and  Dixon's 
line  and  invading  Pennsylvania. 

June  passed  away  and  July  came  in,  and  day  by 
day  the  patient  improved.  And  as  his  strength  grew 
they  planned  together  for  the  wedding,  which  all  agreed 
must  occur  before  Fletcher  went  back.  As  his  leave 
was  uncertain,  the  two  old  men  went  to  Lexington 
one  Saturday  in  the  beginning  of  July  and  obtained 
a  marriage  license,  to  be  kept  till  Boyd  was  stronger 
if  possible,  but  to  be  used  on  any  day  when  Fletcher 
found  that  he  must  go. 

The  next  day  Fletcher  walked  with  Liberty  in  the 
orchard  toward  the  pike.  It  was  a  hot  day,  and  the 
shade  was  attractive,  and  they  strolled  among  the  trees 
testing  the  first  ripe  harvest  sweets  and  the  Carolina 
Junes.  It  was  Fletcher's  first  real  visit  with  Liberty, 
and  he  had  no  mind  to  shorten  it. 

"  You  look  very  fine  in  that  chaplain's  coat,"  said 
Liberty. 

"  And  you  in  that  lovely  white  dress  and  sunbon- 
net,"  said  he. 

"  Oh,  thank  you !  "  she  said  demurely.  "  A  chap- 
lain should  not  flatter." 

"  I  mean  it,"  said  he. 

"  Do  you  really  like  it  ?  "  she  asked,  standing  oflf 
a  little  and  making  a  courtesy. 

"  Yes ;  both  the  dress  and  you." 

"  Oh,  shame  on  you  for  talking  to  me  so !  And 
Sunday,  too." 

"  Is  that  a  wrong  thing  to  say  on  Sunday  ?  " 

"  Not  if —  You  didn't  know  me  the  day  you  came, 
did  you?  I  don't  think  you  were  so  very  glad  to 
see  me." 


358  Pine  Knot 

James  Fletcher  looked  at  her.  The  ideal  was  still 
in  his  heart,  but  an  ideal  picture  is  sometimes  of  the 
decalcomania  sort,  and  capable  of  transfer.  He 
looked  again  at  the  pretty,  coquettish,  plucky  little 
woman,  and  wondered,  as  during  the  past  weeks  he 
had  wondered  a  thousand  times,  how  he  had  ever 
preached  at  the  face  under  her  white  sunbonnet  and 
had  not  seen  her  beauty  as  he  now  saw  it.  Often  of 
late  he  had  thought  of  renaming  his  ideal,  but  had 
stopped  when  he  remembered  that  Liberty  with  her 
gayety  and  coquettish  ways  was  perhaps  unsuited  to  be 
the  wife  of  a  minister,  or  again  when  he  had  doubted 
whether  in  her  fine  clothes  and  new  surroundings  she 
would  listen  to  him.  But  he  looked  at  her  to-day, 
straight  through  the  picture  of  the  ideal,  and  lo!  like 
a  dissolving  view  it  took  new  features,  and  when  he 
sought  for  the  name,  it  was  already  named. 

"  Are  you  preparing  a  sermon  ?  "  she  asked  in  an- 
swer to  his  stare. 

"  It  is  prepared,"  said  he.  "  I  am  about  to 
preach  it." 

"  It  is  Sunday ;  that's  a  fact.  I  hope  the  sermon  is 
not  long?  Where  shall  I  sit?  I  mustn't  get  grass 
stains  on  my  new  white  mull  dress !  " 

"  Stand,  then,  if  you  prefer." 

"  Very  well.  Begin.  Is  your  introduction  like 
Preacher  Taulbee's,  *  My  dear  beloved  fr '  " 

"  Yes,  that  is  it." 

"  '  — iends  and  neighbors  and  neighbors'  children 
and  dying  congregation,'  "  continued  Liberty,  imitat- 
ing the  tone  of  Mr,  Taulbee. 

"  You  saucy  girl !  "  said  he.  "  I'm  tempted  to  box 
your  ears." 


An  Ideal  and  a  Reality  359 

"  You  can't !  "  said  she.  "  I'll  pull  my  sunbonnet 
over  them,  so." 

There  is  a  point  beyond  which  it  is  not  safe  to 
tease  a  man.  The  white  sunbonnet  is  by  nature  the 
most  tempting  bit  of  headgear  that  woman  can  de- 
vise ;  to  pass  it  in  all  its  crisp,  white  loveliness  and  not 
peep  within  is  at  any  time  an  exercise  fit  for  the  pen- 
ance of  an  anchorite;  to  see  it  with  a  face  like  Lib- 
erty's peeping  out,  so  maliciously  tempting,  so  de- 
fiantly inviting,  was  too  much  for  James  Fletcher.  A 
moment  he  looked,  and  then  he  had  her  in  his  arms 
and  was  kissing  her  under  the  sunbonnet  with  the 
most  reckless  disregard  of  its  starched  frills. 

A  full  minute  he  held  her  so,  and  then  looking 
down,  his  eyes  met  hers  under  the  sunbonnet. 

"  This  isn't  very  proper  for  a  preacher,"  said  she. 

"  I  will  begin  my  sermon,"  said  he.  "  '  My  dearly 
beloved ' " 

"  I  thought  you  loved  Barbara,"  she  added  ma- 
liciously. 

"  I  thought  so,  too,"  said  he. 

"  Are  you  sure,  very  sure,  you  don't  love  her  still  ?  " 
she  asked, 

"  I  am  sure  that  I  love  you,  truly,  and  with  all  my 
heart,"  said  he.    "  Do  you  love  rae.  Liberty  ?  " 

"  You're  crushing  my  dress,"  said  she,  "  and  my 
bonnet  is  all  out  of  shape." 

He  released  her,  and  then  deliberately  kissed  her 
again. 

"  I  like  the  bonnet  better  so,"  said  he.  "  I  love 
you.  Liberty." 

"  I  love  you,  too,"  she  answered,  "  and  the  bonnet 
will  wash." 
24 


360  Pine  Knot 

For  half  an  hour  they  wandered  in  the  orchard, 
making  more  real  the  joy  that  had  come  to  them  both. 
A  little  cloud  of  dust  far  down  the  limestone  pike 
drew  their  attention.  Out  of  it  emerged  a  horseman 
in  the  uniform  of  a  Union  orderly. 

"  Let  us  go  to  the  fence,  and  meet  him,"  said 
Fletcher.    "  He  must  bring  news." 

The  orderly  drew  up  at  the  fence,  his  horse  wet 
and  dusty,  and  saluting,  asked,  "  Is  this  Chaplain 
Fletcher?" 

"  It  is,"  said  Fletcher.  "  Have  you  orders  for 
me?" 

"  Yes,  sir.  The  regiment  is  to  march  on  Tuesday. 
There's  important  news,  sir." 

"  Tell  us  quickly,"  said  Fletcher. 

"  General  Lee  has  been  defeated  at  Gettysburg,  sir ; 
and  General  Pemberton  has  surrendered  Vicksburg  to 
General  Grant !    Good  day,  sir !  " 

"  Good  day." 

They  stood  watching  him  as  his  horse  sped  away 
back  along  the  pike  toward  Lexington. 

"  This  settles  the  question  of  the  war,  thank  God !  " 
said  Fletcher.  "  It  may  end  soon  or  late,  but  this  day 
decides  it,  and  the  Union  is  saved." 

"  We  must  go  to  the  house  and  tell  them,"  said 
Liberty. 

"  We  have  several  things  to  tell  them,"  said 
Fletcher.     "  Come,  let  us  go." 


THE    END 


'^A  FRESH  AND  CHARMING  NOVEL/' 

The  Last  Lady  of  Mulberry. 

A  Story  of  Italian  New  York.  By  Henry  Wil- 
ton Thomas.  Illustrated  by  Emil  Pollak.  i2mo. 
Cloth,  ^1.50. 

♦*  By  far  the  most  complete  and  satisfying  description  that 
has  been  given  of  life  in  the  Italian  quarter  of  New  York,  .  ,  . 
Incidentally  a  very  good  novel,  reasonable  in  its  purpose  and 
character  drawing,  intricate  in  plot,  and  dramatic  in  its  action." 
— Philadelphia  Times, 

"A  breezy  book.  It  *  goes '  from  start  to  finish,  and  the  ac- 
tion moves  in  a  rich  atmosphere,  albeit  that  of  the  poorest  of 
New  York's  alien  colonies.  .  .  .  The  best  study  of  Italian  life 
in  New  York,  and  of  its  special  environment  that  has  ever  been 
drawn." — New  York  Herald. 

"  Through  a  very  cleverly  contrived  course  of  events  the 
complex  life  of  the  colony  shines  out  in  most  resplendent  pro- 
portions. .  .  .  The  story  is  an  exceedingly  clever  piece  of  hu- 
morous writing. ' ' — Pittsburg  Chronicle-  Telegraph. 

"The  author  has  evidently  made  a  close  study  of  the  Italian 
quarter  and  its  people  and  customs,  and  has  utilized  his  knowl- 
edge to  best  advantage." — Denver  Republican. 

"Character  drawing  and  humor  of  an  excellent  quality." — 
Rochester  Herald. 

"  Richly  humorous,  *  The  Last  Lady  of  Mulberry '  is  one 
of  the  most  enjoyable  little  romances  we  have  recently  read.  It 
presents  a  picture  of  the  Little  Italy  known  in  all  our  larger  cities 
in  a  way  that  is  more  effective  than  any  number  of  serious  dis- 
sertations."— Providence  News. 

D.  APPLETON  AND   COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


By  ELLEN  THORNEYCROFT  FOWLER. 


JUST  PUBLISHED. 

The  Farringdons. 

A  Novel.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  A  most  readable  story  of  the  fortunes  of  several  interesting;  people.  .  .  . 
A  plot  that  threads  its  way  through  the  story  reaches  a  conclusion  the  unex- 
pectedness of  which  adds  to  the  pleasure  that  the  reader  will  find  in  this 
romance. " — Providence  News, 

"  Miss  Fowler  makes  her  own  audience,  which,  ]arg:e  as  it  is  in  England, 
must  be  even  larger  in  this  country.  There  is  a  deeper  note  in  this  story 
than  any  she  has  yet  sounded.  .  .  .  '  The  Farringdons '  is,  above  all  else, 
a  proclamation  to  the  world  that  the  religion  which  Christ  brought  to  hu- 
manity is  a  living  power,  undiminished  in  strength,  the  mainspring  of  the 
actions  and  zispirations  of  millions  of  Anglo-Saxons." — New  York  Mail  and 
Express. 

"  A  book  of  intense  interest." — Springfield  Union. 

"  Its  whole  atmosphere  is  that  of  a  June  morning.  ...  It  is  full  of  crisp 
and  original  dialogue,  and  beneath  all  the  persiflage  and  gossip  there  is  a 
strong  undercuiTcnt  of  wholesome  and  high-minded  phiiosophy." — Chicago 
Tribune. 

"  Sparkling  dialogue,  careful  character  drawing,  and  admirable  descrip- 
tions are  all  here,  but  above  all  we  have  real  people,  and  real  people  who 
are  interesting.  The  book  is  another  evidence  of  the  high  abilities  of  the 
writer. " — Cincinnati  Times-Star. 

Concerning  Isabel  Carnaby. 

A  Novel.     New  edition,  with  Portrait  and  Biographical  Sketch  of  the 
Author.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  No  one  who  reads  it  will  regret  it  or  forget  it." — Chicago  Tribune. 

"  For  brilliant  conversations,  epigrammatic  bits  of  philosophy,  keenness 
of  wit,  and  full  insight  into  human  nature,  '  Concerning  Isabel  Carnaby '  is 
a  remarkable  success.'' — Boston  Transcript. 

"  An  excellent  novel,  clever  and  witty  enough  to  be  very  amusing,  and 
serious  enough  to  provide  much  food  for  thought." — London  Daily  Tele- 
graph. 

A  Double  Thread. 

A  Novel.     i2mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  The  excellence  of  her  writing  makes  .  .  .  her  book  delightful  reading. 
She  is  genial  and  sympathetic  without  being  futile,  and  witty  without  being 
cynical." — Literature,  London. 


APPLETON     AND      COMPANY,     NEW     YORK.. 


By  ELEANOR    STUART. 

Averages. 

A  Novel  of  Modern  New  York.     i2mo.     Cloth, 

^1.50. 

**To  picture  a  scheming  woman  who  is  also  attractive  and 
even  lovable  is  not  an  easy  task.  .  .  .  To  have  made  such  a 
woman  plausible  and  real  in  the  midst  of  modern  New  York  life 
is  what  Miss  Stuart  has  achieved  in  this  novel.  And  the  other 
characters  reach  a  similar  reality.  They  are  individuals  and  not 
types,  and,  moreover,  they  are  not  literary  echoes.  For  a  writer 
to  manage  this  assortment  of  original  characters  with  that  cool 
deliberation  which  keeps  aloof  from  them,  but  remorselessly 
pictures  them,  is  a  proof  of  literary  insight  and  literary  skill.  It 
takes  work  as  well  as  talent.  The  people  of  the  story  are  real, 
plausible,  modem  creatures,  with  the  fads  and  weaknesses  of 
to-day."— A^.   r.  Life. 

**The  strength  of  the  book  is  its  entertaining  pictures  of 
human  nature  and  its  shrewd,  incisive  observations  upon  the 
social  problems,  great  and  small,  which  present  themselves  in  the 
complex  life  of  society  in  the  metropolis.  Those  who  are  fond 
of  dry  wit,  a  subtle  humor,  and  what  Emerson  calls  *  a  philos- 
ophy of  insight  and  not  of  tradition,'  will  find  *  Averages*  a 
novel  to  their  taste.  .  .  .  There  are  interesting  love  episodes 
and  clever,  original  situations.  An  author  capable  of  such  work 
is  to  be  reckoned  with.  She  has  in  her  the  root  of  the  mat- 
ter."— N.  T.  Mail  and  Express. 

Stonepastures. 

i2mo.     Cloth,  75  cents. 

"  The  story  is  strongly  written,  there  being  a  decided  Bronte 
flavor  about  its  style  and  English.  It  is  thoroughly  interesting 
and  extremely  vivid  in  its  portrayal  of  actual  life." — Boston 
Courier. 

D.     APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW     YORK.. 


BOOKS   BY   FRANK   T.   BULLEN. 
The  Log  of  a  Sea- Waif. 

Being  Recollections  of  the   First  Four  Years  of  my  Sea    Life. 
Illustrated.      Uniform  Edition.      1 2mo.      Cloth,  ^1.50. 

The  brilliant  author  of  "The  Cruise  of  the  Cachalot"  and  "Idylls  of  the 
Sea"  presents  in  this  new  work  the  continuous  story  of  the  actual  experiences 
of  his  first  four  years  at  sea.  In  graphic  and  picturesque  phrases  he  has  sketched 
the  events  of  voyages  to  the  West  Indies,  to  Bombay  and  the  Coromandel  coast, 
to  Melbourne  and  Rangoon.  Nothing  could  be  of  more  absorbing  interest 
than  this  wonderfully  vivid  account  of  foks'l  humanity,  and  the  adventures  and 
strange  sights  and  experiences  attendant  upon  deep-sea  voyages.  It  is  easy  to  see 
in  this  book  an  English  companion  to  our  own  "  Two  Years  before  the  Mast." 

Idylls  of  the  Sea. 

i2mo.      Cloth,  $1.25. 

"The  'deep-sea  wonder  and  mystery'  which  Kipling  found  in  Frank  T. 
BuUen's  'Cruise  of  the  Cachalot'  is  appreciable  again  in  this  literary  mate's 
new  book,  'Idylls  of  the  Sea.'  We  feel  ourselves  tossed  with  him  at  the 
mercy  of  the  weltering  elements,"  etc. — Philadelphia  Record. 

"  Amplifies  and  intensifies  the  picture  of  the  sea  which  Mr.  BuIIen  had 
already  produced.  .  .  .  Calm,  shipwreck,  the  surface  and  depths  of  the  sea, 
the  monsters  of  the  deep,  superstitions  and  tales  of  the  sailors — all  find  a  place 
in  this  strange  and  exciting  book." — Chicago  Times-Herald. 

The  Cruise  of  the  Cachalot, 

Round  the  World  after  Sperm  Whales.      Illustrated.       i2mo. 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

"It  is  immense — there  is  no  other  word.  I've  never  read  anything  that 
equals  it  in  its  deep-sea  wonder  and  mystery,  nor  do  I  think  that  any  book  before 
has  so  completely  covered  the  whole  business  of  whale  fishing,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  given  such  real  and  new  sea  pictures.  I  congratulate  you  most  heartily. 
It's  a  new  world  you've  opened  the  door  to." — Rudyard  Kipling. 

"  Written  with  racy  freedom  of  literary  expression  and  luxuriant  abundance 
of  incident,  so  that  '  The  Cruise  of  the  Cachalot '  becomes  a  story  of  fascinating 
vividness  which  thrills  the  reader  and  amuses  him.  The  volume  is  no  less  en- 
thralling than  '  Two  Years  before  the  Mast,'  and  higher  praise  can  not  be 
accorded  to  a  story  of  the  sea.  ...  A  book  of  such  extraordinary  merit  as 
seldom  comes  to  hand." — Philadelphia  Press. 

D.     APPLETON     AND    COMPANY,    NEW    YORK. 


BOOKS  BY  CY  WARMAN. 


Snow  on  the  Headlight. 

A  Story  of  the  Great  Burlington  Strike.     i2mo.     Cloth,  ^1.25. 

"  Mr.  Warman  holds  a  unique  position  among  our  tellers  of  tales,  since  he 
alone  is  a  practical  railroad  man,  who  knows  the  work,  and  has  done  it,  in  all 
its  details." — Neiu  York  Mail  and  Express. 

"  Plenty  of  close-range  photographs,  interior  views,  of  the  great  Burlington 
strike  are  to  be  found  in  Cy  Warman' s  book." — Philadelphia  Times. 

"  It  has  the  great  virtue  of  being  a  plain  story  plainly  told  by  one  who 
knows.  Whatever  other  impression  it  may  convey  to  the  reader,  it  conveys 
most  strongly  the  impression  of  truth.  And  this  plain  truth,  told  in  a  plain 
way,  is  a  terrible  thing.  One  can  feel  all  the  way  through  that  half  the  tale — 
and  perhaps  the  worst  half — is  left  untold,  yet  such  as  stands  in  print  is 
sufficient,  and  to  the  reader  who  cares  for  something  more  than  the  superficial 
adventurous  incident  of  the  book  it  will  not  be  without  its  instructive 
influence." — Denver  Republican. 

"  Told  with  all  the  freshness  and  vividness  of  an  eyewitness." — Philadelphia 
Call. 

"  WiU  be  read  with  interest  by  all  railroad  men." — Galesburg  {III.)  Mail. 

The  Story  of  the  Railroad. 

Illustrated,      izmo.      Cloth,  ^1.50. 

"  Far  more  interesting  than  the  average  novel.  .  .  .  Mr.  Warman's 
volume  makes  us  hear  and  feel  the  rush  of  modern  civilization.  It  gives  us 
also  the  human  side  of  the  picture — the  struggles  of  the  frontiersman  and  his 
family,  the  dismay  and  cruel  wrath  of  the  retreating  savage,  the  heroism  of 
the  advance  guard  of  the  railway  builders,  and  the  cutthroat  struggles  of  com- 
peting lines.  He  does  not  deal  greatly  with  statistics,  but  the  figures  he  uses 
help  make  up  the  stunning  effect  of  gigantic  enterprise.  There  is  not  a  dull 
page  in  the  book." — New  Tork  E-vening  Post. 

"  Intensely  interesting — a  history  that  reads  like  a  romance,  and  compared 
with  whose  marvelous  story  indeed  most  modern  romances  will  seem  spiritless 
and  tame." — Charleston  Neivs  and  Courier. 

''Worthy  to  stand  on  the  same  shelf  with  Hough's  Story  of  the  Cowboy.'* 
—Milivaukee  Journal. 

D.    APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW    YORK. 


BY     ALBERT     LEE. 

}2mo.    Ootht  $1.00;  paper,  50  cents. 
IN  APPLETONS'  TOWN  AND  COUNTRY  LIBRARY. 

The  Gentleman  Pensioner. 

The  scene  of  this  admirable  historical  romance 
is  laid  in  the  tumultuous  England  of  the  sixteenth 
century,  at  the  time  when  the  plots  of  the  parti- 
sans of  Mary  Stuart  against  Elizabeth  seemed  to 
be  approaching  a  culmination.  The  hero,  Queen 
Elizabeth's  confidential  messenger,  has  a  trust  to 
execute  which  involves  a  thrilling  series  of  adven- 
tures. This  stirring  romance  has  been  compared 
to  "A  Gentleman  of  France,"  and  it  is  safe  to  say 
that  no  reader  will  find  in  its  pages  any  reason  for 
flagging  interest  or  will  relinquish  the  book  until 
the  last  page  has  been  reached. 

The  Key  of  the  Holy  House. 

A  Romance  of  Old  Antwerp. 

"  A  romance  of  Antwerp  in  the  days  of  the 
Spanish  oppression.  Mr.  Lee  handles  it  in  vigor- 
ous fashion." — London  Spectator. 

"  This  is  a  fascinating  specimen  of  the  historical 
romance  at  its  best,  the  romance  which  infuses 
energetic  life  into  the  dry  facts  of  history." — 
Philadelphia  Press. 

D.     APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW    YORK. 


BOOKS  BY  J.  A.  ALTSHELER. 
In  Circling^  Camps. 

A  Romance  of  the  American  Civil  War.     i2mo.    Cloth,  $1.50. 

"Mr.  Altsheler  has  an  enviable  reputation.  His  method  is  that  of  Feni- 
more  Cooper.  .  .  .  In  '  In  Circling  Camps  '  he  tells  a  good,  strong,  human  story 
for  its  own  sake,  and  not  for  the  sake  of  showing  off  his  talent  as  a  literary- 
story-teller.  He  gives  us  some  great  battle  pieces,  notably  Shiloh  and  Gettys- 
burg. His  admiration  of  the  nobler  qualities  of  '  old  friends  turned  foes '  is  so 
hearty  and  so  sincerely  dramatic  that  we  love  and  pky  the  terrible  valor  of 
both." — Richard  Henry  Stoddard,  in  the  New  York  Mail  and  Express. 

"  The  author  seeks  to  interpret  some  of  the  situations  of  the  civil  war, 
and  read  to  us  out  of  the  well-known  records  the  story  of  personal  bravery, 
the  drama  of  personal  history,  and  the  old  story  of  love  which  went  on  behind 
the  grim  scenes  of  war." — Philadelphia  Call. 

A  Herald  of  the  West. 

An  American  Story  of  181  i-i  81 5.      1  zmo.     Cloth,  ;^  1.50. 

"  A  portion  of  our  history  that  has  not  before  been  successfully  em- 
bodied in  fiction.  .  .  .  Extremely  well  written,  condensed,  vivid,  picturesque, 
and  there  is  continual  action.  ...  A  rattling  good  story,  and  unrivaled  in 
fiction  for  its  presentation  of  the  American  feeling  toward  England  during  our 
second  conflict." — Boston  Herald. 

A  Soldier  of  Manhattan, 

And  his  Adventures  at  Ticonderoga  and  Quebec.     1 2mo.     Cloth, 
;^l.oo;  paper,  50  cents. 

"The  story  is  told  in  such  a  simple,  direct  way  that  it  holds  the  reader's 
interest  to  the  end,  and  gives  a  most  accurate  picture  of  the  times." — Boston 
Transcript. 

"  Graphic  and  intensely  interesting.  .  .  .  The  book  may  be  warmly 
commended  as  a  good  specimen  of  the  fiction  that  makes  history  real  an4 
living." — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

The  Sun  of  Saratoga. 

A  Romance  of  Burgoyne's  Surrender.      i  2mo.      Cloth,  ^i.oo; 
paper,  50  cents. 

"Taken  altogether,  'The  Sun  of  Saratoga'  is  the  best  historical  novel  of 
American  origin  that  has  been  written  for  years,  if  not,  indeed,  in  a  fresh, 
simple,  unpretending,  unlabored,  manly  way,  that  we  have  ever  read." — New 
York  Mail  and  Express. 

"  A  sprightly  and  spirited  romance  gracefully  written  in  a  crisp,  fresh  style 
that  is  simply  delightful  to  read." — Philadelphia  Press. 

D.     APPLETON      AND      COMPANY,      NEW     YORK. 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  WEST  SERIES. 

Edited  by  RIPLEY  HITCHCOC3C 
Each,  illustrated,  I2mo,  cloth,  $1.50, 

The  Story  of  the  Railroad. 

By  Cy  Warm  AN,  author  of  "The  Express  Messenger,"  etc. 
With  Maps  and  many  Illustrations  by  B.  West  Clinedinst  and 
from  photographs. 

"As  we  understand  it,  the  editor's  ruling  idea  in  this  series  has  not  been 
to  present  chronology  or  statistics  or  set  essays  on  the  social  and  political  de- 
velopment of  the  great  West,  but  to  give  to  us  vivid  pictures  of  the  life  and  the 
times  in  the  period  of  great  development,  and  to  let  us  see  the  men  at  their 
work,  their  characters,  and  their  motives.  The  choice  of  an  author  has  been 
fortunate.  In  Mr.  Warman's  boolc  we  are  kept  constantly  reminded  of  the 
fortitude,  the  suffering,  the  enterprise,  and  the  endurance  of  the  pioneers." — 
The  Railroad  Gazette. 

The  Story  of  the  Cowboy. 

By  E.  Hough,  author  of  "The  Singing  Mouse  Stories,"  etc. 
Illustrated  by  William  L.  Wells  and  C.  M.  Russell. 

"  Mr.  Hough  is  to  be  thanked  for  having  written  so  excellent  a  book. 
The  cowboy  story,  as  this  author  has  told  it,  will  be  the  cowboy's  fitting 
eulogy.  This  volume  will  be  consulted  in  years  to  come  as  an  authority  on  past 
conditions  of  the  far  West.  For  fine  literary  work  the  author  is  to  be  highly 
complimented.  Here,  certainly,  we  have  a  choice  piece  of  writing." — Ne-w 
York  Times. 

The  Story  of  the  Mine. 

As  illustrated  by  the  Great  Comstock  Lode  of  Nevada.  By 
Charles  Howard  Shinn. 

"The  author  has  written  a  book  not  alone  full  of  information,  but  replete 
with  the  true  romance  of  the  American  mine." — Ne-w  Tori  Times. 

The  Story  of  the  Indian. 

By  George  Bird  Grinnell,  author  of  "  Pawnee  Hero  Stories," 
*♦  Blackfoot  Lodge  Tales,"  etc. 

"Only  an  author  qualified  by  personal  experience  could  offer  us  a  profitable 
study  of  a  race  so  alien  from  our  own  as  is  the  Indian  in  thought,  feeling,  and 
culture.  Only  long  association  with  Indians  can  enable  a  white  man  measur- 
ably to  comprehend  their  thoughts  and  enter  into  their  feelings.  Such  asso- 
ciation has  been  Mr.  Grinnell's." — Neiv  York  Sun. 

D.  APPLETON  AND   COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


FOR  STUDENTS  OF  SPANISH, 

The  Spanish  Teacher  and  Colloquial  Phrase 
Book. 

An  Easy  and  Agreeable  Method  of  Acquiring  a  Speaking  Knowl- 
edge of  the  Spanish  Language.  By  Francis  Butler,  Teacher 
and  Translator  of  Languages.  New  edition,  revised  and  ar- 
ranged according  to  the  Rules  of  the  Spanish  Academy,  by 
Herman  Ritter.      i  8mo.      Cloth,  50  cents. 

The  large  sale  and  continued  popularity  of  this  work  attest  its 
merit. 

The  Spanish  Phrase  Book ; 

Or,  Key  to  Spanish  Conversation.  Containing  the  Chief  Idioms 
of  the  Spanish  Language,  with  the  Conjugations  of  the  Auxiliary 
and  Regular  Verbs.  On  the  plan  of  the  late  Abbe  Bossut. 
By  E.  M.  DE  Belem,  Teacher  of  Languages.  1 8mo.  Cloth, 
30  cents. 

This  little  book  contains  nearly  eight  hundred  sentences  and 
dialogues  on  all  common  occurrences.  It  has  been  the  aim 
of  the  compiler  to  insert  nothing  but  what  will  really  meet  the 
€ar  of  every  one  who  visits  Spain  or  associates  with  Spaniards. 

A  Grammar  of  the  Spanish  Language. 

With  a  History  of  the  Language  and  Practical  Exercises.  By 
M.  ScHELE  DE  Vere,  of  the  University  of  Virginia.  i2mo. 
Cloth,  ^i.oo. 

This  book  is  the  result  of  many  years'  experience  in  teaching 
Spanish  in  the  University  of  Virginia.  It  contains  more  of  the 
etymology  and  history  of  the  Spanish  language  than  is  usually 
contained  in  a  grammar. 

p.     APPLETON     AND      COMPANY,     NEW      YORK. 


FELIX  GRAS'S  ROMANCES. 


The  White  Terror. 

A  Romance.  Translated  from  the  Provencal  by  Mrs. 
Catharine  A.  Janvier.  Uniform  with  "  The  Reds  of  the 
Midi"  and  "The    Terror."     i6mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  No  one  has  done  this  kind  of  work  with  finer  poetic  grrasp  or  more 
convincing  truthfulness  than  F6Hx  Gras.  .  .  .  This  new  volume  has  the 
spontaneity,  the  vividness,  the  intensity  of  Interest  of  a  great  historical 
romance. " — Philadelphia  Times. 

The  Terror. 

A  Romance  of  the  French  Revolution.  Uniform  with 
"The  Reds  of  the  Midi."  Translated  by  Mrs.  Catharine 
A.  Janvier.     i6mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"  If  Felix  Gras  had  never  done  any  other  work  than  this  novel,  it  would 
at  once  give  him  a  place  in  the  front  rank  of  the  writers  of  to-day.  .  .  .  '  The 
Terror '  is  a  story  that  deserves  to  be  widely  read,  for,  while  it  is  of  thrilling 
interest,  holding  the  reader's  attention  closely,  there  is  about  it  a  literary 
quality  that  makes  it  worthy  of  something  more  than  a  careless  perusal." — 
Brooklyn  Eagle. 

The  Reds  of  the   Midi. 

An  episode  of  the  French  Revolution,  Translated  from 
the  Provengal  by  Mrs.  Catharine  A.  Janvier.  With  an 
Introduction  by  Thomas  A.  Janvier.  "With  Frontispiece. 
i6mo.     Cloth,  $1.50. 

"I  have  read  with  great  and  sustained  interest  'The  Reds  of  the 
South,'  which  you  were  good  enough  to  present  to  me.  Though  a  work  of 
fiction,  it  aims  at  painting  the  historical  features,  and  such  works  if  faith- 
fully executed  throw  more  light  than  many  so-called  histories  on  the  true 
roots  and  causes  of  the  Revolution,  which  are  so  widely  and  so  gravely  mis- 
understood. As  a  novel  it  seems  to  me  to  be  written  with  great  skill." — 
William  E.  Gladstone. 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK. 


By    MAARTEN   MAARTENS. 


Each,  i2taOf  cloth,  $1.50.    Uniform  Edition. 

Some  Women  I  have  Known.    {Nearly  ready) 

"  Maarten  Maartens  is  one  of  the  best  novel  writers  of  this  or 
any  day." — Chicago  Times-Herald. 

"  Maarten  Maartens  stands  head  and  shoulders  above  the 
average  novelist  of  the  day  in  intellectual  subtlety  and  imaginative 
power." — Boston  Beacon. 

Her  Memory.     With  Photogravure  Portrait. 

"  Maarten  Maartens  took  us  all  by  storm  some  time  ago  with 
his  fine  story  christened  '  God's  Fool.'  He  established  himself 
at  once  in  our  affections  as  a  unique  creature  who  had  something 
to  say  and  knew  how  to  say  it  in  the  most  fascinating  way.  He  is 
a  serious  story  writer,  who  sprang  into  prominence  when  he  first 
put  his  pen  to  paper,  and  who  has  ever  since  kept  his  work  up  to 
the  standard  of  excellence  which  he  raised  in  the  beginning." — 
New  York  Herald. 

The  Greater  Glory.    A  Story  of  High  Life. 

"It  would  take  several  columns  to  give  any  adequate  idea  of 
the  superb  way  in  which  the  Dutch  novelist  has  developed  his 
theme  and  wrought  out  one  of  the  most  impressive  stories  of  the 
period.  ...  It  belongs  to  the  small  class  of  novels  which  one 
can  not  afford  to  neglect. " — San  Francisco  Chronicle. 

God's  Fool. 

"Throughout  there  is  an  epigrammatic  force  which  would 
make  palatable  a  less  interesting  story  of  human  lives  or  one  less 
deftly  told." — London  Saturday  Review. 

Joost  Avelingh. 

"  Aside  from  the  masterly  handling  of  the  principal  characters 
and  general  interest  in  the  story,  the  series  of  pictures  of  Dutch 
life  give  the  book  a  charm  peculiarly  its  own." — New  York 
Herald. 


D.     APPLETON     AND      COMPANY,     NEW     YORK. 


MCMASTER'S   FIFTH   VOLUME. 

History  of  the  People  of  the  United 

States. 

By  Prof.  John  Bach  McMaster.    Vols.  I,  II,  III, 

IV,  and  V  now  ready.     8vo.     Cloth,  with  Maps, 

^2.50  per  volume. 

The  fifth  volume  covers  the  time  of  the  administrations  of 
John  Quincy  Adams  and  Andrevs^  Jackson,  and  describes  the 
development  of  the  democratic  spirit,  the  manifestations  of  new 
interest  in  social  problems,  and  the  various  conditions  and  plans 
presented  between  1821  and  1830.  Many  of  the  subjects  in- 
cluded have  necessitated  years  of  first-hand  investigations,  and 
are  now  treated  adequately  for  the  first  time. 

"  John  Bach  McMaster  needs  no  introduction,  but  only  a  greeting.  .  .  . 
The  appearance  of  this  fifth  volume  is  an  event  in  American  literature 
second  to  none  in  importance  this  season." — New  York  Times. 

"This  volume  contains  576  pages,  and  every  page  is  worth  reading. 
The  author  has  ransacked  a  thousand  new  sources  of  information,  and  has 
found  a  wealth  of  new  details  throwing  light  upon  all  the  private  and  public 
activities  of  the  American  people  of  three  quarters  of  a  century  ago." — 
Chicago  Tribune. 

"  In  the  fifth  volume  Professor  McMaster  has  kept  up  to  the  high  standard 
he  set  for  himself  in  the  previous  numbers.  It  is  hard  to  realize  thoroughly 
the  amount  of  detailed  work  necessary  to  produce  these  books,  which  con- 
tain the  best  history  of  our  country  that  has  yet  been  published." — Philadel- 
phia Telegraph. 

"The  first  installment  of  the  history  came  as  a  pleasant  surprise,  and 
the  later  volumes  have  maintained  a  high  standard  in  regard  to  research 
and  style  of  treatment." — New  York  Critic. 

' '  A  monumental  work.  .  .  .  Professor  McMaster  gives  on  every  page 
ample  evidence  of  exhaustive  research  for  his  facts." — Rochester  Herald. 

"  The  reader  can  not  fail  to  be  impressed  by  the  wealth  of  material  out 
of  which  the  author  has  weighed  and  condensed  and  arranged  his  matter." 
— Detroit  Free  Press. 

"  Professor  McMaster  is  our  most  popular  historian.  .  .  .  He  never 
wearies,  even  when  dealing  with  subjects  that  would  be  most  wearisome 
under  clumsier  handling.  This  fifth  volume  is  the  most  triumphant  evi- 
dence of  his  art." — New  York  Herald. 

D.     APPLETON     AND      COMPANY,     NEW     YORK. 


A  WORK  OF  GREAT  VALUE. 

The  International  Geography. 

By   Seventy    Authors,    including    Right  Hon.    James 
Bryce,  Sir  W.  M.  Conway,  Prof.  W.  M.  Davis,  Prof. 

Angelo  Heilprin,  Prof.  Fridtjof  Nansen,  Dr.  J.  Scott 

Keltie,  and   F.    C.    Selous.      With   488  Illustrations. 

Edited  by   Hugh    Robert   Mill,    D.  Sc.  8vo.      1088 
pages.     Cloth,  $3.50. 

"  Can  unhesitatingly  be  given  the  first  place  among  publications  of 
its  kind  in  the  English  language.  ...  An  inspection  of  the  list  of  asso- 
ciate authors  leads  readily  to  the  conclusion  that  no  single  volume  in 
recent  scientific  literature  embodies,  in  original  contributions,  the  labor 
of  so  many  eminent  specialists  as  this  one.  .  .  .  The  book  should  find 
a  place  in  every  library,  public  or  private,  that  contains  an  atlas  or 
gazetteer." — The  Nation. 

"  The  attempt  to  present  in  one  volume  an  authoritative  modern 
summary  of  the  whole  of  geography  as  fully  as  space  would  permit  has 
been  admirably  successful." — New  York  Sun. 

"  In  brief,  it  may  be  said  to  be  both  a  reference  book  and  a  con- 
nected geographical  history  of  the  modern  world,  something  that  any 
one  can  read  with  profit  in  addition  to  finding  it  of  constant  value  in 
his  library." — Chicago  Evening  Post, 

"  In  his  entirely  studious  moments  the  geographer  cherishes  above 
all  things  facts  and  accuracy.  He  must,  therefore,  value  very  highly 
a  work  like  the  '  International  Geography.'  It  should  be  precious  alike 
to  the  specialist  and  to  the  beginner.  .  .  .  Small  but  adequate  maps  are 
constantly  introduced,  and  there  is,  finally,  a  splendid  index." — New 
York  Tribune. 

"Simply  invaluable  to  students,  teachers,  and  others  in  need  of 
such  a  book  of  reference." — IVashington  Times. 

"  Not  only  as  complete  as  the  limits  would  allow,  but  is  strictly 
up  to  date." — San  Francisco  y4rgonaut. 

D.     APPLETON     AND     COMPANY,     NEW    YORK. 


By  EDGAR  STANTON  MACLAY,  A.  M. 
A  History  of  American  Privateers. 

By  Edgar  Stanton  Maclay,  A.  M.,  author  of  "A  History  of 
the  United  States  Navy."  Uniform  with  ♦*  A  History  of  the 
United  States  Navy."  One  volume.  Illustrated.  8vo.  Cloth, 
$3.50. 

After  several  years  of  research  the  distinguished  historian  of  American  sea  power 
presents  the  first  comprehensive  account  of  one  of  the  most  picturesque  and  absorb- 
ing phases  of  our  maritime  warfare.  The  importance  of  the  theme  is  indicated 
by  the  fact  that  the  value  of  prizes  and  cargoes  taken  by  privateers  in  the  Revo- 
lution was  three  times  that  of  the  prizes  and  cargoes  taken  by  naval  vessels, 
while  in  the  War  of  1812  we  had  517  privateers  and  only  13  vessels  in  our 
navy.  The  intimate  connection  between  privateers  and  the  navy,  the  former 
serving  often  as  a  training  school  for  the  latter,  is  brought  out  in  the  author's 
narrative.  From  forgotten  monographs,  the  records  of  historical  societies,  from 
unpublished  log  books,  and  from  descendants  of  noted  privateersmen,  he  has 
obtained  intimate  and  vivid  accounts  of  the  fitting  out  of  the  vessels,  the 
incidents  of  their  voyages,  and  the  thrilling  adventures  of  the  brave  sailors  who 
manned  them.  Mr.  Maclay's  romantic  tale  is  accompanied  by  reproductions  of 
contemporary  pictures,  portraits,  and  documents,  and  also  by  illustrations  by 
Mr.  George  Gibbs. 

A   History  of  the   United  States  Navy,  from 
1775  to  1898. 

By  Edgar  Stanton  Maclay,  A.  M.  With  Technical  Revision 
by  Lieutenant  Roy  C.  Smith,  U.  S.  N.  New  edition,  revised 
and  enlarged,  with  new  chapters  and  several  new  Illustrations. 
In  two  volumes,  8vo.      Per  volume,  cloth,  $3.50. 

TAis  ivork  has  been  adopted  as  the  Text-Book  upon  United  States  Naval 
History  in  the  U.  S.  Naval  Academy  at  Annapolis. 

The  Private  Journal  of  William  Maclay, 

United  States  Senator  from  Pennsylvania,  1 789-1 791.  With 
Portrait  from  Original  Miniature.  Edited  by  Edgar  S.  Maclay, 
A.M.     Large  8 vo.     Cloth,  ;^2. 25. 

During  his  two  years  in  the  Senate  William  Maclay  kept  a  journal  of  his 
own  in  which  he  minutely  recorded  the  transactions  of  each  day.  This  record 
throws  a  flood  of  light  on  the  doings  of  our  first  legislators. 

D.     APPLETON     AND      COMPANY,     NEW     YORK. 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 

Wilmer 
92 


